BUFFY Meets STAR TREK
by Johnny Snowball
Summary: The Scoobs and the crew of the Enterprise E battle Evil in an epic rollercoaster ride of action and intrigue! A tale spanning the Galaxy, to new worlds and dark stations, can Buffy and Co help Picard's crew save the universe from one of his own?
1. TEASER Prologue

**TIMELINE**

This here little story is set during Season 5 of BUFFY after the episode 'Family' but before the episode 'Fool for love'. Season 5 introduced Dawn to the show and pitted Buffy against Glory. It was also the season in which Buffy's mom died.

At the time this story takes place, Buffy _&_ Riley are still together (just barely). Only Giles _&_ Buffy know what Dawn really is. Spike hasn't admitted he loves Buffy. And Joyce doesn't know what is wrong with her yet.

This was written before the release of STAR TREK: NEMESIS, and Worf did not return to Starfleet as in the films.

**Disclaimer:**

Most of the characters in this story belong to their owners. All of which are NOT me. The story and its plot, on the other hand, ARE mine. Owned by me. There is no profit in this for me, so I borrow all characters on good faith.

Enjoy.

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER is a Registered Trademark of Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation.

**

* * *

**

**- Prologue -**

_**1**_

'In a time before myths and legends began, such a fierce evil did walk the Earth. And monstrous armies did it command, of tortured souls and the things of _Hell._ Lands fell to Darkness and many a man died in such terrible ways that their souls were lost in the mists of malice and their hearts swam in rivers of blood.

There came, out of the entire Earth, one man who had mind to defy the evil. One in all the world with the means to try. The ancestor of the great Wizard Merlin and of Wicca and of all things magic. A child of Gods that had long since fallen from grace.

The First Sorcerer, bound by the laws of his magic, had neither the power nor the will to see the evil destroyed. It could not be defeated; the armies of the Darkness were strong and many. Far beyond the abilities of mortal man to conquer.

Yet, it could be contained. Though all containers must have a way of opening and of closing. The reality of this was not lost on the Sorcerer. And so he did construct his device; a box made from the most honourable of woods, borrowed from the eldest of the great trees of the land. And he did divide it into two parts. One of Spirit and one of Mastery. He fought with powers no man could conceive and he bid the evil: BE CONTAINED! And it was contained. He then bid the device: BE SEALED! And sealed it was.

For the wise Sorcerer did bind this seal within the very words of the device. He then did command:

That No Man Born Of Earth Or Hell,

No God That Walks Within Man's Shell.

No Foreign Soul Nor Outlandish Breed,

Shall Ever Read This Ungodly Screed!

With that, the device formed a language that neither Man, God, Beast nor Otherworldly thing would ever breathe.

To Hell, the Mastery was sent. And, on Earth, the Spirit was kept hidden; in time buried beneath the new Lands of man.

And herein was the first spell cast!'

* * *

**Earth, 2000 AD:**

Rupert Giles closed the heavy cloth-bound book in a gesture of finality and looked to his audience, expecting a reaction of awe-struck wonder and disbelief. Instead, Buffy the Vampire Slayer shot him a numb glance.

"So..." She looked back at the ornamental box sat amongst a pile of heavily sifted-through volumes and chronicles and repeated her initial question. "...What is it"

Rolling his eyes and with a deep sigh, Giles sat himself down in defeat. She may well have been the 'chosen one', but she had the attention span of a small goldfish.

Willow drifted out of her thoughts. "Wow. I mean...that was like...the very first time a spell was used. Ever. The beginning of magic...of witchcraft! That's pretty deep."

Xander, waking up, said: "Yeah. Kinda like the coma I've been in for the past half hour."

"In actual fact, it's more than likely a profusion of utter twaddle," said Giles matter-of-factly.

Xander frowned. "A what...Of who"

"He means nonsense...I think," said Willow. "You do mean nonsense, right"

"Indeed," Giles agreed.

Willow was awash with self-appreciation. "I speak Brit!"

"Yep," said Buffy, giving her a close examination. "I can see that upper-lip stiffening; as upper-lips so often do in the land of Brit. You might wanna get an ointment for that."

Xander nodded in agreement. "I hear the stiffness spreads to your–"

The magic shop door opened with a ring. In walked Dawn followed closely by Anya.

Giles got up from his seat. "Yes, yes. Very droll," he said to his three tormentors as he moved to take another close look at his newly acquired 'device'.

"How's Mom?" Buffy asked of Dawn.

"She's okay. A little tired, though. She went to bed when Anya picked me up." There was concern in her voice. Buffy knew because she heard the same thing in her own voice every time she had to say her Mom was okay. A quick change of subject was needed. "What's that you've got there?" she said, pointing to what was clearly an ice-cream in Dawn's hand.

"Oh – Anya bought me an ice-cream," she bubbled.

"I make a good babysitter," Anya stated as she went to sit with her Xander. "How was your day, Snooky-lumps? Did you enjoy work?"

Holding her hand in his, Xander replied: "Anya. I work on a construction site. I construct. The hours are long, the work is hard and the pay is low. It's a thankless job."

"But you enjoyed it?" she asked him again.

Taking on the manner of an excitable child, he admitted: "Yeah! I built my first wall! With bricks! And there's this whole mortar thing that you guys wouldn't understand. I tell ya, it had the craftsmanship of Da Vinci! The foreman said he'd never seen it done so fast at that high standard. Said I was one of the best guys he'd worked with and if I seem to be grinning like a proud idiot, that's because I'm grinning like a proud idiot."

"You know, Xander," said Willow, "I don't think Da Vinci ever worked on a construction site. Oh, and he never actually built anything–"

"Please don't spoil my moment."

"Did he give you an award?" Anya asked. "'Cos you should get an award!"

"Nooo..." he answered. "...But I did get blisters. Lots and lots of blisters."

Cradling his hands and kissing his wounds, Anya whispered 'I love you's' and 'I'm so proud's' in his ear. Xander gratefully received them.

"What's that?" Dawn asked, pointing to where Giles stood with the box.

"Oh," Buffy said, "it's just some ancient relic created at the dawn of time yadda, yadda, blaa, blaa. Nothing remotely interesting."

Giles shot her a look.

"No," Dawn said, smiling. "I meant that box next to him."

Everyone turned to Giles, unsure whether to laugh or not.

"Actually..." Giles began before making a double-take. "I beg your pardon? I believe I shall ignore that remark, young lady!"

And he began to tell the story, in layman's terms this time, of how he had come into possession of the 'device' and of it's supposed history. But Dawn didn't notice. In fact, she didn't hear much of what he said after that.

(She did notice the box, though. And, in its way, it noticed her.)

Giles explained how it had been discovered on an early Antarctic expedition. Buried for long ages deep in caves of ice and then handed to museum after museum around the world before being bought privately by a wealthy collector of rare antiquities. An old, old friend of Giles' and a man who had been at times almost like a father to him.

Until he died. But he did leave him a nice box. With a note:

'If anyone can learn to understand its meaning, it would be Rupert; my dear friend.'

(The box itself looked to Dawn to be hand-calved and non-too carefully either, she noticed. Very oldie-looking. And dark. Oh... and it hummed.)

So, Giles had set about his research, finding only myth and vague accounts. Nothing conclusive.

(She wondered why the others didn't seem to hear it. It wasn't loud, but the others were closer. She would swear she heard it hum. And hum it did. It hummed a song for her and it was beautiful.)

Buffy had been listening to Giles and understanding more of what he said this time. It was the 'Director's cut' - with explanatory voiceover. She noticed that Dawn was still standing at the far end of the counter. She seemed lost in thought – distant – and her ice-cream was making a run-for-it; melting its way down her hand; heading for the floor.

"Dawn?" she whispered, trying not to disturb the gang.

Her little sis' head jerked up and she gave Buffy such a look. As if she was surprised to even see her there.

"You okay?"

_Am I okay?_ Dawn thought, wondering what Buffy meant. _Well, my hand feels cold..._ She looked down. _Oops! I have ice-cream hand!_

Buffy watched Dawn throw what was left of the cone in a 'Magic Box' carrier bag and shook her head as little sis wiped her sticky hand on the leg of her jeans.

Buffy made a face as though she was still waiting for an answer.

Dawn nodded.

('_Course I'm fine. Just got distracted is all...by that thing._ The shape of it reminded her of an egg timer. A big wooden egg timer. With markings.)

And Giles told them the myth of the box and how it was meant to hold part of an evil entity, bound by a language that held no meaning to anyone who read it.

(No, not markings...words!)

It was dark when Giles finally finished his tale and much time had passed. In that time, Tara had been and gone, and Riley had been, stayed and promptly fallen asleep. It took a brief moment for them to realise the story was over, then Xander gave him applause. "Bravo."

As everyone began to talk amongst themselves and Giles moved to tidy his shop before closing time, Dawn found herself moving closer to the box.

(It had writing on its surface in some strange way. Too small to see from far away and something in what she vaguely heard Giles saying made her curious. Curious enough to set aside her disinterest and go to it. But it wasn't really her decision to make anymore; it was calling her closer.

The words seemed to form in Dawn's mind much clearer than her eyes could see them. With a fiery intensity that burned at her brain, desperately trying to get out. But what she read made little sense to her. Some of the words were '_Way too Giles-like_'. And the song it sang for her really was enchanting. Though she didn't really want to, and felt somehow that she really ought not; Dawn could not fight the pressing need to speak the inscription aloud...)

"Take Heed Thee Now; These Words Of Malice...?"

Everyone turned to see Dawn bent down at the table, her face inches from the box and scrunched up like she was trying to make sense of what she was saying.

"Burned About Thy Wooden Palace..."

Most of the Scoobies thought she was foolin' around, but Giles felt a sudden rush of terror. _Could it be...? Is it even possible...?_

Buffy saw the horror in his eyes.

"Bound By Magic, Bound By Script..."

Giles removed his reading-glasses and stepped closer.

Buffy saw this and readied herself.

"Bound Within Thy Timeless Crypt..."

A shadow seemed to fall upon them.

"Hark! Dark 'Spirit', Thine Release Is Spoken..."

Giles' horror took on new horror. He opened his mouth.

Buffy saw this and leapt from her chair at Dawn.

"STOP!" Giles cried out, panic-stricken.

Before he finished, Buffy was already with her sister – a hand over her mouth.

Dawn pushed her away. "What are you doing! Are you crazy! Do you even wash your hands! I could catch...some freakish Demon disease! You can't go around manhandling people just 'cos you're the Slayer, you know. People have rights. I'm tellin' Mom that you–"

"Quiet!" Buffy ordered. "Giles?"

The ex-Watcher started to pace; hand on head. "I...I don't understand how..." he said to himself.

_I didn't even do anything...I don't think,_ Dawn considered. _Or did I? They all hate me now._

Then Giles looked right at her. "Dawn!" He came over, held her shoulders and looked at her intensely. "You mustn't read from the device, do you understand?"

She wriggled out of his grasp. "Whatever. God. You people really creep me out."

_Jeez! Borderline psychos much?_

Buffy said to her: "Dawn, it's alright. We're sorry. Giles is just worried, that's all." She stroked her little sister's hair gently to reassure her. "Right now it's really important that you not read what's on that box. Okay?"

Dawn rolled her eyes and nodded.

"Giles – talk-time." Buffy turned to the gang. "Let's re-group in the back."

With that, they covered the box under Willow's coat and went. Buffy stopped at the training room door. "Stay away from it." Then she disappeared through to the back.

Dawn was alone. With the box. And Riley. So, she began to hum a beautiful song.

* * *

Buffy was on Giles' back the instant they were out of Dawn's view.

"But how can Dawn read it, Giles? In your crusty old book it said '_No-one_ shall ever read'. _Ever_!"

Willow stepped in. "That's not what it said, Buffy."

Giles nodded. "No Man Born Of Earth Or Hell, No God That Walks Within Man's shell,

No Foreign Soul Nor Outlandish Breed, Shall Ever Read This Ungodly Screed," he recited.

"But, still, that doesn't explain how Dawn–" Willow began.

Buffy and Giles were exchanging a look of sudden realisation.

"We have to tell them, Giles," said Buffy.

So, after a reluctant hesitation, Giles explained to the gang what they knew about Dawn.

Firstly, they were shocked that they hadn't been told already.

Then they were shocked that all their memories of Dawn weren't even real.

Then, for a while after that, they were just shocked.

"So..." said Xander at last, "as far as we know she's none of those."

"Obviously not," agreed Giles.

"We know she's a key. But not the key to this, surely!" Buffy declared in a whispered shout.

"_Macbeth_!" cried Willow.

Most of them looked around as if there might be someone else in the room, then back at Willow. It was Xander that spoke. "Eh?"

"It's like Macbeth," she expanded.

Giles removed his spectacles and rubbed at his eyes. He knew Macbeth, but he had to think. This could be very serious.

Xander looked blankly at Willow. "I say again – eh?"

"See, Macbeth," she explained, "he was told that 'no man born of a woman' could kill him. So, he thought he was invincible. Then along came Macduff. Or Macgruff, maybe. Anyway, his mother didn't give birth to him!"

Buffy considered this for a short time. "He was delivered by a stork?"

"No! She had a Caesarean. He was cut out of her womb."

"Ew!" said Buffy. "They could do that back then?"

"Uh-huh."

Xander shook his head. "Barbarians. But, hey, Will... what happened to this Macbeth guy"

"He died."

"Oh."

Panicking, Anya clutched tightly onto Xander's arm. "Are we going to die?" She attracted their stares. "Because of the...y'know...Macbeth thing?" she said, realising how ridiculous she sounded.

Giles stepped back into the group, slipping his spectacles back on. "I don't see how. If this is the 'device' kept on Earth, then the other is in Hell. Or one of the demon realms. If so, nothing in that dimension can unlock it."

"And if the other one isn't in Hell?" Buffy asked.

The ex-Watcher thought it over. "There shouldn't be any cause for concern. Even if it did find its way into our reality, what happened with Dawn is certainly a singular event."

They all gradually came to the same conclusion and gave Giles many approving nods.

"So what do we do now?" Willow asked Giles.

"We make certain Dawn doesn't finish the incantation..."

"And we hide the box where it can never be found," added Buffy. "Right, Giles?"

"My thoughts exactly. As long as no one can ever translate the other 'device', there shouldn't be any need to panic."

"We're doomed," said Xander.

* * *

**Space, 2376 AD:**

'Captain's log, supplemental:

After making a brief stop at the Federation outpost on Sal Fusia-Six, we are resuming our course to Starfleet Headquarters with the Klingon delegation. Morale onboard is high, as many of the crew are eager to see their loved ones on our return to Earth.'

Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the _Enterprise-E_, saved his log entry and swivelled his seat around to view the strange new artefact on his desk. Across from him, his first officer Commander William T. Riker sat straddling the guest chair. Both men wore a curious expression.

"So, Captain...what exactly are we looking at here?"

"That, Number One, is the very mystery the Federation Archaeological Council hopes to unravel."

They were in Picard's readyroom. The stars flickering by through the single window being the only indication they were on a starship travelling faster than the speed of light. On Picard's desk sat an old wooden box.

"I hear that the scientists on Sal Fusia-Six couldn't determine what the markings mean," Riker commented.

Picard allowed himself a brief chuckle. "Will, they couldn't even agree if the markings are some form of language or just simply decorative. More importantly, how are the delegates settling in?"

"_Ambassador_ Worf seems quite content. Apparently he was complaining that the beds are 'far too comfortable'."

"It didn't take him long to get back to his roots."

"Between the bloodwine and battle-song, his groups' nocturnal activities have been keeping half the ship awake most nights."

"Klingons will have their ways." Picard got up and made his way out to the bridge. "Well, I must officially greet our guests in person. If I can leave the ship in your capable hands, Will?"

"Certainly, Captain." Riker also made his way out. "Try not to get too drunk, sir."

* * *

**Earth, 2000 AD:**

The Magic Box door swung open and Spike strode in.

_Odd._ The place was practically deserted. Except for little Dawn and the Slayer's washed-up grunt of a boyfriend spark-out in a chair. The neutered vamp went over to the table where Dawn sat preoccupied with some dirty old block of wood. "Whassup, Peaches? Where's that twattin' sister of yours? She lurkin' about?"

No response. _O…kay._

"I got some information, see. Real juicy stuff. She might be interested..." he trailed off. Still no reply. She just sat there, running her delicate fingertips over the woods' surface like she was reading Braille. And 'Action-Man' was still out-to-lunch. _Right..._ "Look, if you see her, tell her I got some fresh demon action goin' on. The big, nasty, droolin' kind she likes." He was just turning to go when he noticed she was humming faintly to herself. "You feelin' alright, Niblet?"

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, startling Spike a little.

"What's that, Pet?"

"The song it plays." She spoke so softly that he strained to hear her. "The others don't hear...but I do. They can't see it either. They're blind."

"That's nice. Say, have you been smokin' pot? You know...if the Slayer finds out you've been on the silly-stuff...well, she'd probably blame me, but–"

"Would you like to hear a song?"

"Song...? Uh...sure." _This is just a little too weird._

Yet Spike listened as she sang him a quiet song:

"Take Heed Thee Now; These Words Of Malice,

Burned About Thy Wooden Palace.

Bound By Magic, Bound By Script,

Bound Within Thy Timeless Crypt.

Hark! Dark 'Spirit', Thine Release Is Spoken,

LET MAGIC DIE AND OLD WOOD BE BROKEN!"

She spat out the last line savagely, which stirred Riley from his sleep.

"Hey, I know this!" said Spike. "It's Pink Floyd, right?"

* * *

**Space, 2376 AD:**

The _U.S.S. Enterprise_ NCC-1701-E cut through the fabric of space at warp 5. Onboard, a delegation of Klingon high ranking officials were en route to Starfleet HQ for an important strategic meeting of Federation and allied forces. As Ambassador Worf was often fond of saying: '_For armies who fight as one mind, the battle is already won._' Among his assembly was his good friend, and Klingon leader, Chancellor Martok.

Also onboard was a strange artefact. A wooden box with decorative markings the likes of which had never been seen.

The Sal Fusian science team had been studying a region of space highly susceptible to random wormhole manifestations, and it was during one of their many high-level sensor sweeps that an 'anomaly' had occurred. First there had been a massive power drain to their systems then, for little more than an instant, space tore open. A 'wormhole' they decided – although it had not registered on their sensor records – had opened and from it came this strange new object. But that was all they had been able to determine. And now it was on the _Enterprise_. Heading for Earth.

"Have you ever seen anything like it, Data?" asked Picard from his readyroom desk.

Lieutenant Commander Data examined the object closely. "No, sir, I most definitely have not. It appears to be very old."

"Yes, there's nothing like it on any of our records." He got up and walked to Data. "The archaeologist in me can't help but wonder who made it, where it came from and what it was for. That's why I want you to work with the science and cultural analysis departments to see what you can uncover."

"Captain, I was under the impression that it was to be examined by a team at Starfleet headquarters."

"True, Data. But where's the harm in humouring an old explorer?"

Data rotated the object in his pale hands a few times. "Intriguing."

"Do you see something, Data?" Picard felt a rush of jealousy. If there was something to be found, he should have seen it himself before now. But the android was better equipped to see small details.

"This is most interesting, Captain... It appears to have an inscription."

Picard looked over his science officer's shoulder at the artefact yet still couldn't see any text. "It must be very small, Data. I can't–"

Data pointed to the deep markings on its surface. "It is quite clear, sir."

_The markings!_ Picard realised. "You can read this?"

"Of course."

_Amazing!_ "What language is it?"

Data looked back at Picard as if he thought his captain had suddenly gone mad. "Earth standard, sir. It really is quite legible." He held it in front of Picard's face. "See?"

He looked. Hard. Yet still saw only markings. "That's just it, Data. ...I can't."

They were in the turbolift heading for the science lab on deck 4, when Data discovered something new. Picard watched his second officer lift the object up to his ear and frown. "You've noticed something else?"

The android looked over the artefact again. "Most unusual." He turned to face Picard. "I take it, Captain, that you cannot hear it."

It appeared to Data to be emitting some kind of low-level audio frequency. A soft purr. Studying the object, he also realised that looking at it made him feel...pleasure. No, it was more like...euphoria!

"I...feel..." Unbelievably, he wasn't all that sure what to say.

"Data? Are you alright?" Picard asked in concern.

The android decided to de-activate his emotion chip. That would be better. But a nano-second later, the oddest thing happened. The emotion chip switched itself back on.

"Strange," he said aloud.

A little worried, Captain Picard contacted the one person who knew the android's inner workings better than anyone else onboard – Chief Engineer Geordi La Forge.

"Meet us in science lab one, Geordi." He turned back to Data. "Will you be alright until we get there?"

Data nodded. "Yes, Captain. I seem to have a slight malfunction. Perhaps you should take this." He reluctantly handed the puzzling artefact over to his captain.

When Geordi arrived at the lab, Data was already hooked up to a diagnostic terminal – running a systems check. La Forge examined his positronic 'brain' and then his emotion chip sub-routines and found no flaws.

"You say your chip wouldn't stay switched off?" asked Geordi.

"That is correct," Data answered, while checking his power management system through the opening in his forearm.

La Forge shrugged. "I can't find any problem here. You're working fine, far as I can tell." He decided he'd need to examine him more thoroughly back in engineering.

Chief Lab Technician Rhannon Hallar – a tall, male, blue-skinned Bolian – approached Data and indicated to the box on the central exam table. "Commander, we just ran a quick analysis of... it. Are you sure you can read it?"

"I am certain."

Picard went to his second officer. "Data, I want you to go with Geordi and let him take a good look at you. But before you go, can you tell us what the inscription is? It will give them something to work with until you are feeling ready to return to duty."

The android decided, unclear why, that it would probably be best not to tell them. Perhaps they were not meant to know. A small noise sounded at the terminal Data was still connected to.

La Forge checked the console and turned to Picard. "His chip's back online, Captain."

_However_, Data considered, _it would feel much better if I did_. His lips parted to speak, but he paused. Again, the terminal sounded an alarm. It indicated that some of his personality protocols had been bypassed. _So much better..._

And the more Data read, the more he reminded them of his brother Lore...

"Take Heed These Words That Strength Doth Rest,

Burned Upon Thy Wooden Chest.

Bound By Scripture, Cursed To Hell,

Bound Within Thy Crafted Shell.

Hark! Dark 'Mastery', Herein Is Writ,

LET BINDING LIFT AND OLD WOOD SPLIT!"

* * *

Riley opened his eyes with a start and made a quick visual sweep of the room.

_The Magic Box... Hostile 17... Dawn... weird box... No Scooby gang... Hostile 17?_

"What's...? Where'd everybody go?"

Spike started to say he'd been wondering the same thing when Buffy and the others came in from the back. They froze. The 'device' was uncovered and Dawn was right in front of it.

Buffy panicked. "Dawn! Tell me you didn't–"

But it was too late. The air turned cold.

* * *

Chaos struck the science lab as an icy chill hit the room.

The artefact started to vibrate hard on the table. Its surface cracked around the markings upon it, emitting bright shafts of light.

La Forge and Rhannon reacted quickly.

* * *

The box gave off an intense light throughout the shop. Everyone backed away – even Dawn. The light was warm and bright but not too bright to see through.

Buffy saw the 'device' begin to flash rapidly, Like 'now-you-see-it / now-you-don't'. "What's happening, Giles?"

"I...I don't..."

Dawn looked at her sister. "It's searching."

* * *

"Captain, the artefact is phasing in and out of our space-time continuum!" La Forge announced.

The lights dimmed and some of the wall panels began to flicker and shut down.

"Sir!" cried Rhannon. "It's opening some kind of subspace vortex – our systems are being drained! ...We're losing power, Captain! At this rate-" BANG! An overhead oxygen conduit ripped open.

Picard stepped over to Geordi. "Can we contain the vortex? Keep it from effecting our systems?"

"I'm setting up a subspace isolation field around the artefact."

Rhannon moved to another console. "It's not working! We're losing life-support!"

On the bridge, Riker ordered Red Alert.

"I'll try to re-configure the isolation field using an adaptive phase modulation."

Picard saw as the box was enveloped in a white aura, which then began to expand. "When you're ready, Chief..."

"There!" A faint bubble appeared around the disturbance.

The computer terminals and lighting came back online.

"Life-support is stabilising! Systems are returning to normal." Rhannon breathed a deep sigh of ease. Working the old science lab wasn't usually so nerve-racking. "That was quite–"

CRACK!

With a loud splintering sound, the box split apart inside the containment field. Picard and La Forge jumped to the nearest sensor terminal.

"There's some kind of energy attacking the containment field from the inside!" said Picard. "Will it hold, Geordi?"

La Forge checked the readings. "I think so. It should."

The captain worked the console. "I'm setting up a secondary force field – just to be sure."

* * *

"Dawn, get away from there!" Buffy couldn't get to her. The light seemed to burn hottest at its core. She looked to Riley – he was near Dawn. He could help her.

Riley understood by her look what she wanted him to do, so he made a move for the littler Summers. But the pain hit suddenly. They all fell to their knees. The agony crippled every part of them from head to toe like hot lava bubbling through their veins.

Riley was farthest away and it wasn't as intense for him, so he bit at his lip and fought with all the power he had to suppress it. Grabbing Dawn by the waist, he launched himself over the counter and landed hard on his back with her held to his chest. His back hurt, and he realised it was the only pain he felt just as the air around them seemed to be sucked out of the room.

Then all fell silent in the magic shop.

* * *

In science lab 1, the lights cut out again and control panels flickered.

The Bolian cursed under his breath.

"We have another problem."

"What now, Geordi?"

"We're experiencing a power-surge."

Rhannon's terminal sparked and he recoiled just as it exploded outward. Picard protected his face from the heat it sent out as confusion threatened his calm.

"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on with my ship!"

"Another vortex is openi–"

There was a dazzling flash and an almighty rush of air that hit them hard, knocking them to the lab floor.

* * *

When Riley Finn decided finally that it was safe to move he got up, helped Dawn to her feet and checked her for damage. She was shivering and trying to speak. _Probably shock_.

They moved around the till and onto the shop floor. It was empty. Riley panned around and saw no one. Dawn pointed at the table where the box had been. _Had_ been.

She broke into a fit of tears.

"It's alright," he said, holding her. "They probably just took it somewhere. We'll find them."

She cried more. "I-I'm sorry. I couldn't...I didn't..." She looked at him. "It was inside my _head_!"

They looked outside. No Scooby Gang. They searched all of Sunnydale from Restfield cemetery to Giles' place and from the campus to the Bronze and back. They were gone.

Tara lay alone in her bed, wondering why Willow hadn't come. Or called.

Harmony, feeling rejected, wept in her empty crypt.

Riley stayed with Dawn and Joyce.

None of them slept easy that night.

* * *

Red beacons flashed through the sullied oxygen mist that filled the lab. The Alert sirens were sounding overhead when Picard got back on his feet. La Forge was already up and moving through the cloud, so the captain helped Rhannon to stand. The technician's legs were trembling badly.

Geordi's voice came from the haze, calling his commander: "Captain." He sounded serious. "I think you should come take a look at this."

As Rhannon managed to shut off the leaking conduit, Picard moved into the mist toward the far side of the room. He passed the containment field with the broken artefact still inside and moved on. Soon, he saw Geordi appear through the fog, staring down at the deck.

The air-filtration system came online and the cloud parted to reveal to the captain what looked like the scattered remains of another box – possibly smaller than the first. He glanced back at the lab entrance to see Commander Data unmoving on the floor, still interfaced with the terminal.

Geordi put a hand on his shoulder. "They're over here, sir," he said, pointing.

Captain Picard turned and, as the last of the mist left the room, they were easy to see. Six of them. Not moving.

"Picard to Doctor Crusher."

"Here. What happe–?"

"There'll be time for explanations later, Beverly. We need a medical team in science lab one."

"How many injured?"

He looked at the bodies on the deck. "Six, Doctor."

"We're on our way."

* * *

The Spirit, free, drifted unseen by the mortals. Its Mastery was near, yet bound again in a new prison. Searching for a resting-place – a vessel – it settled on one that suited its purpose. A powerful energy source of great strength and intelligence, and the speaker of the Sacred Writ.

No-one saw as _Evil_ took refuge in Commander Data's 'mind'.

* * *

Dr. Crusher arrived at the scene with a staff of nurses and auxiliaries, going straight to work on her new patients.

"Let's establish if we can move them safely," she instructed her team.

The medical crew divided themselves between the prone bodies. Crusher took the nearest casualty with nurse Branaghan. A small blonde girl in old-style clothing was lying face down, limp and lifeless. After a preliminary scan, Branaghan loaded a hypospray with a standard 3cc of Cordaline and applied it to the neck.

Crusher continued with a thorough scan, checking all vital systems. "What happened here?"

"I'm hoping they can tell us," replied Picard.

He watched as the medics exchanged solemn glances.

The doctor shook her head. "Crusher to Transporter Chief Warren - urgent transport needed from science lab one to sickbay. Six patients and five medical staff to beam."

"Doctor?" Picard asked anxiously. These people may prove to be the only clue to unravelling this whole bizarre incident.

She looked up from her patient and met his gaze. "I have to get them to sickbay right now, Captain. Most of them are critical. Two are probably already dead."

"What are their chances?"

The transporter stream took effect and, as the medical crew and their patients faded from sight, Crusher answered his question...

"I think we're too late."


	2. Escape

**-Escape -**

_**2**_

Buffy felt herself slowly drifting back to reality and was about to open her eyes when she suddenly heard unfamiliar voices close by.

"...never seen so many code white resuscitations, Jean-Luc. Two of them needed emergency surgery. I almost lost the older one. They're in recovery now. One was DOA." – Female.

"How are the others?" – This from a man.

"Stabilised. I've already made arrangements for the deceased."

"I need to know, Beverly, ...when will I be able to talk to them? I have to–"

"Captain! ...Jean-Luc. I will let you know when I decide they are fit. My duty is to my patients. That's why I'm the Doctor."

The man let out a deep chuckle. "Yes, of course. But they may be the key to whatever we are holding in the lab."

"I understand. I'll let you know as soon as I have something to report."

Then the sound of movement...

Quiet.

Buffy went into automatic Slayer-mode and quickly weighed up the possibilities.

'_We were in the magic shop... the box blew a fuse... then the pain! And then nothing. _..._Either I'm in hospital or this is the waiting room to hell_'

She nipped at her tongue with her teeth. '_Okay...I'm awake. Not dreamin' the dream of the dead_' she thought. '_And OW!_'

She really needed to get a feel for where she was. '_Before the devil turns me into spit-roast_'. It felt like she was lying down on something soft and flat, '_Please be my bed_' and the air smelled... In fact, she found that there was no smell at all. '_That doesn't help. If it was the hospital it would have that sterilised smell_' She was gonna have to take a peek.

Opening her eye just a little bit, she saw a bright light above her and, for a second, thought it was God. Looking to the side, she saw a high-up flat bed – most likely the same type she was on – and on it lay '_Xander!_'

He looked asleep. Alive but unconscious. The room they were in had a dull grey/brown colour scheme with lit-up panels on sections of the wall. '_Eerie_'

Opening her other eye, Buffy saw another bed where someone in a black and grey outfit was loading a device and prodding it into...

'_Willow!_'

* * *

Duty Nurse Alyssa Ogawa gave the young woman one final small dose of Dexalin to help her with her breathing. This was the auburn-haired girl she and nurse Branaghan had finally managed to resuscitate after treating her head trauma with a good dose of Inpedrezine. It had been a close ca– "AAH!"

Before Alyssa had time to react, her left arm was twisted behind her back and a small hand had her by the throat.

* * *

The Slayer scanned the room. '_Definitely not at the hospital_'

That left her the other option – Hell, or a demon realm. Either way she was taking no chances. "What have you done to her?" She tightened her grip.

"Please...she needed Dexalin. It's alrigh–"

"Buffy?" – it was Willow. She was awake.

'_Alright_,' Buffy thought, '_Enough chit-chat_'

With that, the oriental woman tried to prod her with another gadget. Acting fast, Buffy let go of the woman's arm and quickly guided the gadget into her shoulder.

* * *

Alyssa swore to herself as the hypo shot a strong sedative into her own bloodstream.

* * *

The woman relaxed suddenly into Buffy's arms and fell to the floor. '_Oh, crap_'

Willow got off her bed. "Buffy! You killed her!"

Checking her pulse, Buffy said: "She's fine. Let's get Xander."

As they woke him up the old-fashioned way Willow asked: "Buffy, where are we?"

She looked around again. "I have no idea. Maybe Hell."

Willow puzzled over that a moment. "So, where's the fire? ...And the brimstone?"

"Good point."

Xander opened his eyes slowly and rubbed at them with clenched fists. "Aw, man! I had the weirdest dream." He sat up and regarded them and their surroundings. "I liked the other one better," he said, lying down again.

"Xander, get up!" Buffy said firmly. "We _are_ awake. ...I think."

He moaned and slipped off the bed to stand with them. "Are we in Hell? 'Cos if we are, I'd like to say, its reputation is a tad overstated."

"What are we gonna do?" Willow asked.

They searched for a way out. Willow spotted a dark orange section of wall that looked different to the rest. "Is that a door?"

The Slayer went to it. "It will be soon." She made to kick it through but wasn't expecting what happened next. The wall slid away before her and the momentum carried her too far. She landed on her butt.

She got up and composed herself. "Load up the camels, we're getting outta here."

Will made her way to join Buffy but Xander didn't move. "Hello!" he said.

"Come on, Xander," she pleaded, "let's go."

He just stood there with his arms open as if to say 'Have you seen what you're wearing?'

They all checked out their clothes and grimaced. '_We can't go out like this!'_

Dressed in thin purple pyjamas, the three of them pondered a minute before they got their priorities straight and high-tailed it out of there.


	3. Worlds Collide

**- Worlds Collide -**

_**3**_

The trio found themselves running through a long arched corridor that seemed to continue forever in a left-handed curve. Buffy was beginning to wonder if they might end up back where they had started before long.

Like the room they had fled from only moments ago, this corridor also shared the grey/brown decor. It also had a dark orange carpet and with the lack of windows coupled with the dim lighting, it was all the more menacing.

Their motion, which started as a sprint, had gradually faded into a half-hearted jog when Xander came to an unsteady stop – his lungs burning and out of breath. "H…hey," he barely managed to call out. "H…hold up."

Willow and Buffy, hearing his desperate plea, abandoned their escape and joined him. Having stopped, Willow realised how badly she had needed to breathe.

Buffy was hardly even panting. "Come on you guys, we have to find our way out before someone realises we're gone!"

Xander caught his breath enough to argue his point. "I... we can't, Buffy. We...we aren't like you. If we keep on like this... I don't know about you, Will... but I think I'm gonna pass out."

Willow, leaning heavily on a panelled wall, nodded intently. "I'm... pooped."

"Besides," Xander added, "I think I'm getting blisters on my feet." '_Wait a minute! Blisters! My hands!' _He brought his palms up to view them.

Buffy had a look. "Your hands are fine. No blisters."

"I know. But there were, remember? From work today. Only not today. Buffy, how long have we been here? How long have we been lab-rats in this place? What have they done to us?"

"I don't know, I don't know and I don't know. But I do know we can't hang around. We'll get all the answers later, Xander."

Feeling a little better, he stood up fully. "Face it, Buffy. We're the jam filling in a donut from Hell. We're going in circles and getting nowhere real fast."

At that moment, a loud siren set off and strips along the walls began to flash red.

The three shared a glance, then ran like bats out of Hell.

It was a welcome surprise to them when they finally came to a T-junction and, on hearing voices and footsteps ahead, they took the new route. A door recessed in the wall ahead opened suddenly and from it came two figures. Buffy stopped dead. Willow almost ran into her. Xander made a desperate effort to stop and ended up falling back – skidding to a halt on his sore ass. Glancing up, he saw looming over him two of the ugliest damn demons he ever did see. The one nearest to him wore a snarl that quite possibly had the power to dust a vampire. Its piercing stare was set in a dark and hideous bearded face with deep ridges that ran the length of its nose, covering an enormous forehead. Wild, flowing hair – like a brown mane – hung heavy over its huge and padded shoulders. They were both of the same breed and their clothes were tough and thick...and bloody. They were warriors.

"D'KULLAH MARG RAH K'NEL!" it howled down at Xander.

Xander was afraid, but he wasn't impressed. "GAHLV GAHOH KE–SPLURGE to you, ya big freak!" '_This'd be a good time_,_ Buffy_,' he thought.

The demon's gnarled features creased up and with a growl it bared it's sharp and rugged teeth at him.

"Dear God! Please tell me I didn't just say somethin–"

It reached down for his neck with a large semi-gloved hand.

As it made a grab for Xander, Buffy stepped forward and planted a bare foot right in its mashed up face. And man did it hurt.

It worked a treat, though, as the beast fell back and rolled onto its stomach. It didn't look pleased at all.

The other came forward and lunged at her artfully. It bore a massive scar where a left eye should be. '_Gross_'

It wasn't artful enough, however, as Buffy took hold of its thick wrists and brought her leg up at a tight angle – right on its hairy chin.

The demon's feet left the ground and it hit the wall with the back of its head, landing hard on the floor. The first one made a strike for her and, as she went for a hard kick to the ribs, it caught her leg with one hand, spun and slammed a powerful back-hander into her face.

The Slayer hit the deck. Her stomach wretched and her nose hurt like a bitch. Nausea and dizziness left her stunned. This was not good.

The demon took hold of the back of Buffy's neck and started to lift her off the floor.

Willow had to try something. Even though it was an experimental something she hadn't quite got all the kinks out of yet. "Deslavo!"

A flaming blue ball of energy formed in her hand and she flung it at Buffy's attacker. The beast looked up in shock as the energy ball arced toward its head... and hit the wall, dissipating into nothing.

"Still a few kinks," she muttered to herself.

The second creature was picking itself up. The Slayer was still grounded and Will was a little busy with the first, so Xander plucked up a little of that crazy thing called courage and jumped on the second one's back. He managed to get the thing in a sort of sleeper hold. For about half a second.

It clenched his head with a muscled hand and flung him over its shoulder. It was all Xander could do to just thank the dear lord he landed softly enough.

The first demon let go of Buffy and moved gingerly to Willow. "CHONUQ!" it snarled at her.

Thinking on her feet, she recalled the time she and Tara had combined force to move a soda machine with their minds. It was now or never.

She put all she had into making a stab at the air in the beast's direction and was amazed at herself as it flew at least 6 feet away from her onto its back.

"No kinks there, then."

Buffy shook off the last of the nausea and got up. This was war!

She sauntered up to the one over Xander. "I _was_ going to kick your ass," she said, "But then I saw your face."

It turned to her just in time to see her heel coming at its one and only eye. It roared and covered the eye with a hand. With the other it tried to get hold of her but she turned and forced a sharp elbow into the things gut. It keeled over, making it easy for Buffy to bring an effective double axe-handle down at the base of its neck. It dropped like a lead weight. '_One down_'

The other was again on its feet and coming for her. It dodged another of Willow's misguided energy spheres and went to take Buffy by the throat. She caught the arm and twisted it round and down until the demon was knelt on the floor with its back to her. Then she saw what she needed. On its back, it wore what looked to be an axe-like weapon. A boomerang shaped axe with 3 handles and 4 sharp points.

She tore it from its straps by one handle, raised it over her head and brought it down at the demon's neck with all her might.

* * *

Worf quickly pulled his d'k tagh knife from his belt, dropped onto his back and blocked his own bat'leth with it.

This Human female was an insult to his years of battle experience. He would show her the strength of a Klingon warrior and then he would show her her insides. For his honour!

"PREPARE TO DIE!" he yelled, knowing that, without a universal translator, she had no idea what he was saying. She would understand the feeling behind it.

He pounded his feet up and into her stomach – flinging her up, away and down with a crack.

Worf then rolled to his feet, picked up his fallen bat'leth and took the stance of a warrior.

The Human pulled herself up and stood before him. What was she doing? She was flicking her head at him. She wanted him to turn around.

* * *

The demon spun just as Willow managed to hurl another ball of blue fire. It struck the monster perfectly in his chest.

* * *

Worf felt a sudden lethargic sensation take hold of his whole body and he felt himself falling. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

* * *

The three bruised and battered Scoobs quickly regrouped and made sure none of them was too badly injured. Willow was fine but Buffy's foot and nose felt broken.

Xander, tenderly holding his friction-burned butt in the doorway the demons had come from, said: "I take back whatever I said about Hell being overstated."

They joined him at the entrance and were horrified by what they saw. Beyond the doorway was a vista blanketed with bodies. Bloodied and maimed bodies upon bodies. Carpeted with crusty death.

Willow let out a whimper. "These two demons did all that?"

Xander clapped. "I say 'yay' to us." Then he looked quickly back to where they had come from. "I hear people coming. Could be more of them."

Again they made their getaway, turning a corner and slamming hard into a wall – knocking them to the floor. But when they looked up there was no wall there.

Buffy stood and walked carefully forward with a hand held out before her. With the first couple of steps, nothing happened. On the third, however, her fingers touched something solid. The air in front of her shimmered blue – like a wall of energy.

"We have to find another way."

They searched for some way out of the corridor and the sound of people approaching grew louder every moment. Buffy stopped a second. There had to be a ventilation system or access tunnels of some kind. She checked the part of wall closest to the floor and thought she had found what they wanted.

Will and Xander watched her kneel in front of the wall, grab a plain looking panel and lift it down. A hatch!

"Let's go."

After a few feet of crawling, they came to an intersection. The horizontal tunnel they were in met one running upward. Buffy had a feeling they may have been underground – all these tunnels and no windows – so she took to the ladders and headed up.

Two flights up, they came to a blue hatchway above them. Buffy tried but it wouldn't open up and she crawled back into one of the circular tunnels.

"Anyone else here get the feeling we're being herded?" Xander called.

Soon they came to an exit hatch that led them back into a corridor. Xander was ready to complain again about getting nowhere when he realised that this passageway was square and very grey – unlike the others they'd seen. At the end of it stood one of those sliding doors. It read 'Shuttle Observation Gallery'.

"Looks like they have a subway system," Willow commented.

"Yeah? Maybe we can hitch a ride outta here," said Xander.

"Sounds like a plan," Buffy agreed.

They stepped through the door.

The room was small and simple with a lit up panel at one end. The three went over to it and saw that there was a large opening in the wall – they were on a balcony.

Looking down at what appeared to be a hanger bay of some kind, they watched as people of the Human variety fussed around a set of what seemed to be electric train cockpits.

"What, in the name of all things decent, is this place?" Xander pondered desperately.

But he got no answer. The other two were far too distracted. They were gazing out of a ceiling-to-floor window, looking out at...'_No way_'

An ocean of blackness littered with stars. Outer space.

Willow managed half a sentence; "Are we...?"

Xander put his hands on their shoulders as if he needed the support as much as they did. "I think Dorothy left the building a long time ago, Toto."

At that moment, the doors opened and a group of armed men in what must have been uniforms burst in – completely cornering them.

They were way in over their heads.

Turning to Buffy for guidance, Willow and Xander couldn't believe it when she lifted her hands up in surrender. "Take-us-to-your-leader."


	4. Worlds Unite

**- Worlds Unite -**

_**4**_

A counsellor, who explained to them that they were, indeed, in space – on a ship – had greeted them at the balcony. She also told them they would be feeling very disorientated and that she was there to help them adjust.

Seeing their injuries, the counsellor had then tapped a badge on her chest and told her leader to meet them at 'sickbay'. She escorted them, with a pair of guards, back to the room they had tried so hard to get away from. Typical.

There they were greeted by a man with a very commanding presence who appeared to them to be in his early sixties. With an extremely bald head.

He had tried to speak to them, but was interrupted by a woman with light ginger hair feathered around her mature yet attractive face. She wanted to be sure they were fit and well before anything else was to happen. She had been concerned for them.

* * *

Buffy squirmed under the doctor's instruments. She wasn't one for hospitals or medical treatment, but the Doc – 'Crusher' – had promised she'd be good as new in no time at all.

She had begun to notice a pattern in the uniforms these guys wore. Under the basic black body suit with grey shoulders, the guards had yellow ochre polo necks, medics wore blue and the leader had red.

'_Kinda like military teletubbies_'

Beverly scanned the girl who called herself 'Buffy Summers' with the medical tricorder probe. "Well, Miss Summers, you'll be glad to know they're not broken. Your nose is very badly bruised and you have a sprained ankle." She picked up a dermal regenerator. "I can fix up your nose now, but your foot will probably be a little sore for the next couple of days."

'_More like hours_' Buffy corrected to herself.

"Can I ask how you managed to get so badly injured in such a short time?"

"We ran into a couple of demons down the corridor there. You might wanna check that out."

The bald guy motioned to a guard who quickly left with a nurse.

Over Buffy's shoulder, Xander lay on his stomach having the burn on his ass treated.

"You know," he said, "anyone else would find this degrading. But not me. No. I rise above my humiliation because I happen to know I have a great ass." He didn't sound all that convincing, though the nurse smiled. "Or I could just be saying that to make myself feel better, in which case it isn't working and I'm a _fool_."

"Oh!" said Willow. "What about the other nurse? We left her here...on the floor. Was she okay?"

Doctor Crusher nodded at her. "Nurse Ogawa. She's fine. A little shaken up, but fine. I sent her home for the day."

Buffy lowered her gaze. "Sorry...about that. We thought we were... well, it's kind of hard to explain."

"Actually it's quite understandable," Counsellor Troi pointed out. "They were extremely confused. They had no idea where they were or why they were being kept here. When I met them they were very disorientated."

The doctor finished her treatment and put her strange tools away.

Buffy touched her nose. '_Wow_' it was all better! "Is that it?"

The doctor smiled. "You're done. Just watch that ankle."

The bald man stepped forward. "I am Captain Picard; commanding officer of the Federation starship Enterprise. Welcome aboard."

Xander put up his hand. "I think I speak for all of us when I say... you're the who?"

Troi smiled at their naivety. "You are on a starship called the Enterprise and this is our captain. He'd like to ask you a few questions about where you came from and how you came to be here with us. If you feel ready, of course."

Buffy got off the bed and went over to the captain. "Fire away."

"Firstly...Miss Summers, we believe you arrived here through a tear in the space-time continu–" He realised this time that he was speaking as though they understood temporal mechanics. "That is, from the style of your clothes, it would appear that this is not your time. May I ask what year you are from?"

Buffy looked at him for a long instant. "The year two thousand. Why?...What year is this?"

Picard looked at Counsellor Troi who put her arm round a worried looking Willow.

"This is the year twenty-three, seventy-six."

Willow took in a deep breath. "Buffy!"

"It'll be alright, Will. We'll find a way out of this." But her voice betrayed her fear.

"That's right, Willow," said the counsellor. "We'll do what we can to get you home." Troi looked to the captain for back-up.

"Absolutely. We have a brilliant science team. But... first we need to ascertain the means by which you arrived and what–"

"Doctor." An auxiliary popped out from behind a partition. "We have two patients here that would like to see their friends."

The Scoobs' gazes shot to where the young nurse stood. From behind her, a dishevelled girl in a patient's gown shuffled into main sickbay.

Xander almost slipped off the bed. "Anya!"

She ran, as best she could, to cuddle her beloved. "Xander! I was so worried about you! My poor, sweet puppy-face." She saw his wound. "Xander, what did you do to your ass?"

He cringed. "It's a long story and when I come up with a less embarrassing version, I'll let ya know."

Anya gave the nurse treating him a cold stare. "And what do you think you're doing?"

The female nurse came over all uncertain. "I gave him three cc's of Kelotane for the pain. ...And now I'm applying a dermal regenerator to heal the wound." She looked at the doctor for approval.

"Well you can just stop that!" demanded Anya. "This is _my_ Xander and no-one goes near his ass but me." She took the medical tool from the nurse's hand and shoved her out of the way. "Hussy."

"Doctor!" the nurse said in disbelief.

Anya fiddled with the instrument and Xander turned to her as much as he could. "Anya, quit messin' with that and give it back to the nurse who _knows_ how to work it."

"Got it!" she said, finding the 'on' button.

"Please, Anya..."

She held it over his butt and flicked the switch.

"Yikes! Anya, that's too close! You're frying my ring!"

"Sorry, Honey," she said, lifting it higher.

Buffy turned to Doctor Crusher. "She said there were two patients."

"This way," said Crusher as she led them into a small side room.

This area was much smaller than main sickbay, with more specialised equipment. Against the farthest wall stood two beds larger and more comfortable than the others. The one closest to them was empty but in the other lay...

"Giles!" Willow and Buffy practically attacked him with hugs.

"I heard you three were on the rampage," he said as they took a space up on either side of his bed.

Buffy shrugged. "You know us, Giles. When we're bored, we like to make our own fun."

"Where's Xander?" Giles asked.

"He's next door," answered Willow. "Having his ass re-generated."

"Oh." It gave Giles a disturbing mental image. "Rather wish I hadn't bothered asking."

Buffy noticed that the wall panel behind Giles' head was showing his medical stats. Turning to the doctor, she asked: "Is he going to be alright?"

Beverly checked the monitor and ran a tricorder scan. "It was touch-and-go for a while but he seems to be perking up. His body didn't handle the stress of your journey as well as yours."

"I think Doctor Crusher is trying to say I'm getting old," said Giles.

Willow sniggered. "We've been saying that behind your back for years." Her smile quickly faded. "Which was, of course, a joke. ...Right, Buffy?"

She smiled and raised her hands. "Hey, what you and Xander talk about when I'm not around..."

Doctor Crusher closed the medical tricorder with a click. "Alright, I'm willing to discharge you, Mr. Giles, if you promise to take it easy for a few days." She went to a cabinet built into a wall. "All the clothes you arrived with are here."

"If you feel the need, we have industrial replicators that can supply you with alternative clothing," Picard added.

"Would you be the captain of the ship?" asked Giles.

Picard joined Beverly by his bed and held out a hand. "Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Welcome to the Enterprise."

He shook the captain's hand. "Giles. Rupert Giles."

"I take it you are aware of the situation," enquired the captain.

"The doctor here filled me in on some of the details of...what happened."

"The problem, Mr. Giles, is that we have...something...contained in one of our science labs..."

Rupert tried to sit up. "Something?"

"It was an artefact of unknown origin that we–"

"Good God! I sincerely hope it wasn't translated."

"As a matter of fact–"

"You said it was contained?"

"Yes. In an isolation field. A forcefield."

"Captain Picard, we have to talk urgently."

"I'll organise a meeting in the observation lounge as soon as you are ready."

Buffy interrupted: "There were two more of us. My sister and another man. ...My boyfriend."

Crusher shook her head sombrely. "There was only one other person with you. ...I'm afraid he was already dead by the time we got to him. I'm sorry."

Willow covered her mouth in shock.

Buffy could barely speak. "Riley..."

Giles put a hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head, a tear in her eye. "No. Riley's strong, he wouldn't..." She met the doctor with an intense glare. "What did he look like?"

Beverly seemed uncomfortable with answering the question. "Well... He was wearing dark clothes. A black coat. And his hair was coloured–"

"_Spike_!" she spat. "Bleached hair? Long leather jacket? No tan?"

Crusher nodded to them all. "Yes, I'm sorry, we needed the beds so we moved the...body."

Picard stepped in. "We have a custom similar to that of the naval forces in your time. We place our fallen crewmen into a torpedo shell...and we release them into space."

Buffy fought down a laugh. "You shot Spike into space?"

"No, no. We wouldn't make that decision on your behalf. If you'd like to make other arrangements..."

"Can we see him first?"

Both Picard and Crusher were surprised by the girl's coldness.

"Uh..." Picard faltered, "certainly. Doctor?"

With that, the doctor and the captain went into main sickbay while Buffy changed.

Buffy looked at Willow, who said: "I'm gonna stay with Giles."

"Okay. You don't mind?"

They shook their heads.

"Good. 'Cos I totally have to see this!"

* * *

Xander felt his rear tenderly and was amazed to find that Anya had done a pretty good job. He covered himself and got up to give her a warm embrace.

Anya hugged him tightly. "You probably don't want me to spank you for a couple of days."

Xander chuckled in ignorance of his embarrassment.

Buffy came in from the side room dressed in her black sleeveless top and trousers.

"And where does the Buffster think she's going at this time of night – all dressed up like she's lookin' for a party?" quizzed Xander.

"I'm going to see Spike before they shoot him into outer-space," she said in a chirpy manner.

A malevolent smile formed on Xander's face. "Can I come?"

Picard and Crusher shared a disturbed glance before making their way to the door.

They were almost out of sickbay when the doors slid apart. The security officer and nurse that had left earlier came in. Behind them, Ambassador Worf stood supporting Chancellor Martok's unconscious frame.

Buffy saw the demon.

Worf saw the girl.

And all hell broke loose.

The Klingon off-loaded Martok onto a guard and lunged at Buffy.

"RUN!" she yelled at the people around her.

"I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND!" cried Worf.

The guards jumped in and held them back. Picard was fuming. "STOP THIS!"

Worf broke free from the grip of the security crew and stood down.

The Slayer did the same, noticing the demon had spoken in English.

"Ambassador Worf!" Picard said firmly. "I'm surprised at you!" He turned to Buffy. "And if I could ask you to kindly not attack my distinguished guests!"

Worf growled at the Slayer as he addressed the captain. "This Human has been genetically enhanced. She tried to attack us, Captain!"

Picard looked him up and down. "I'd say she succeeded, Ambassador."

Again he growled. "They have particle weapons, sir. The one with red hair–"

"Worf," Picard cut in, "they are guests on my ship. You will get medical attention and we will discuss this later."

Ambassador or no ambassador, Worf was clear that this was an order to be obeyed.

As she left with Picard, Crusher, Xander and a pair of guards, Buffy gave Worf a crafty wink.

He was not impressed.

* * *

Crusher entered a turbolift and asked for 'Deck 13'. When everyone was onboard the elevator, Buffy asked a question she had been puzzling over since leaving sickbay: "Err...Captain...Picard?" She felt uncomfortable speaking so formally. "Back there. That thing you called 'Worf'. What is he?"

Picard sighed softly. "He is a Klingon."

Xander burst into laughter. "Ugh...'scuse me," he said, coughing into his hand.

Picard shook his head at the immaturity. "Ambassador Worf is an alien. He represents the planet Kronos on behalf of our Federation. You really should be careful, Miss Summers. Klingons are a proud warrior race. They don't take too kindly to being mocked. Or beaten."

There and then, Xander decided he would avoid the 'Kling-ons' at all cost.

* * *

The entrance to the Torpedo Launcher room was nothing more than a narrow aisle with a channel running along the centre and tight gangways on either side. In the centre of the channel lay a long, gleaming, black pod.

Beverly said quietly to Buffy: "Would you like us to open the casing?"

Buffy nodded and Xander whispered in her ear: "This could be our last chance. You sure you don't wanna blast him into the void?" He almost sounded desperate for it.

She looked at him. "He's just as lost here as we are, Xander. But it would be funny. We just...can't."

A security officer reached into the pit and undid the locking mechanism on the torpedo.

"Why not?" pleaded Xander. "He's nothing but a–"

WHACK – The torpedo lid hit the guard square on the jaw.

"OW!" came a voice, familiar to the two Scoobs, from inside the torpedo.

The lid flew open and a dazzled Spike pounced from it. The other guard drew his weapon but Spike dived at the guy and popped him one on the chin. "AAH! For Christ's sake!" He bent cradling his head.

The security officer got up, pointed his phaser and ordered clearly: "Don't move, or I _will_ fire."

The shook-up vamp stood and raised his hands. "I bloody-well knew it! You're one of those Initiative boys. Thought you'd come back and teach old 'ostile seventeen a lesson, eh? Well this time your not takin' me ali–" He caught sight of Buffy and Xander. "Slayer? What are you...?" He eyed Xander. "What's with the girly jammies? Decided to follow in Red's footsteps 'n' turn poof?"

"Ya know what?" Xander replied, pointing to the guard. "Why don't you just zap him?"

Xander turned to leave. "You had your chance, Buffy, and you blew it. I'm going to see how Giles is." With that, he left.

"I could have suffocated in there, Slayer!"

"God, if only that were true, Spike."

Picard and Beverly were stood open-mouthed.

"He's dead!" she stated uncertainly.

The captain gave her a stern look.

"I'm telling you, Jean-Luc, he was dead!" she insisted.

Buffy pivoted round to face them both. "He _is_ dead. He's a vampire."

The captain and doctor's faces dropped.

"We have a lot to talk about," she said to them, before making her way out.

The commander of the Enterprise and its chief medical officer stood there in bewilderment.

The guard was left wondering what to do with the prisoner.

Spike sniffed defiantly and looked at them. "Anyone got any smokes?"

* * *

The U.S.S. Enterprise hung motionless in space not more than a few million klicks from the Dégori Solar System. The Dégori System was renowned for having one of the largest stars in the known galaxy, which explained why none of the three planets within its gravity were inhabitable.

* * *

As they entered the observation lounge, they were struck by the soothing rays from the nearby Dégori sun as it cast soft orange beams of light across sections of the room. It was a wondrous site.

Spike followed them in, saw the glowing orb of the star and cursed as his legs went up in flames. "Oh, Bloody hell!" he cried, jumping into a shaded corner and beating at his lower half with his jacket.

The automatic fire suppression system activated, surrounding Spike with a forcefield and starving the fire of oxygen. Getting back to his feet, Spike swore and cursed a few times then mumbled: "Million miles from Earth and I still gotta worry about gettin' sunburnt." He realised he was the centre of attention. "What are you all starin' at? You people never seen a man spontaneously combust before?"

"Not on this ship," stated Picard. "Don't do it again."

The vampire huffed. Buffy, Willow and Xander were clearly amused.

"Think that was funny, do ya?" asked Spike as he slipped his smouldering coat back on.

There were eight chairs around a long, lit-up table.

Captain Picard took the head seat at the table end. His crew sat to his left; Riker, Geordi and Crusher with Data at the wall terminal, having been declared fit for duty again.

As the Scoobs filled the remaining seats, they noticed how comfortable they were. Anya saw no other places, so she perched herself on Xander's lap. Spike stood confined to his darkened corner.

Picard settled himself and began the conference. "How are our guests now, Doctor?"

"Surprisingly good considering the state they were in just a few hours ago. In all my years, I've never seen anything like it. It was as though the life had been sucked out of them."

Buffy put her hand up. "But we're fine now. Really. We're full of the stuff of life. We require no more prodding at with cold, steely implements."

There was a moment of awkward silence as the Enterprise crew tried to get their heads around Buffy's strangeness.

"Firstly," Picard said, mainly to Giles who sat at his right hand. "We know very little about you and I somehow get the impression you know more about this...'situation' than we do."

"If I'm honest, Captain, I…I'm not really sure about any of this. What I _do_ know is based on legends...and fables. Which bore little credence until now."

"I'm sure anything you can tell us will be helpful."

"Well... legend has it: a timeless entity of pure evil with the power to command legions of Hellbeasts and... monsters, was trapped in the inscription on a box. Its power source – or 'Mastery' – was removed from it and bound separately."

Riker noticed the girl sat on the boy's lap was staring at him. He gave her a boyish smile.

"Its power was then banished to Hell and...and somehow it came to be here."

Picard nodded. "Yes, it came through a wormhole – well, a 'hole' in space. A wormhole was never confirmed. It wasn't translated until we brought it onboard the Enterprise."

Giles was suddenly puzzled. "How did you translate the inscription?"

"Mr. Data here was the only member of my crew able to decode the markings."

"I don't understand," pondered the former Watcher. "No foreign breed could read the text."

"Foreign breed?" asked the captain.

"Other-worldly thing. Alien."

"Data is not an alien, Mr. Giles. He is an android."

Giles understood. "I see. The spell-caster certainly didn't foresee that one. Neither did I, for that matter."

Geordi leant forward to address his captain. "I've checked our sensor records and neither the anomaly or whatever it is we're holding in the science lab have registered. I'm not one to admit defeat, sir, but I'm at a loss."

Xander noticed Anya noticing Riker.

Geordi continued: "And the vortex somehow managed to completely drain our deuterium supply. Don't ask me how, Captain, it's a physical impossibility but all our deuterium tanks have run dry."

"This...deuterium...what is it?" Rupert asked.

"It's the fuel supply for our engines," answered La Forge. "What we had onboard would have lasted us another two years."

Giles began to join the dots. "It must create an inordinate amount of energy to power a ship of this magnitude."

"Yes. More than you can imagine." Geordi and the others saw that Giles was coming to an answer.

"I believe I know why we're here," he said. "And I know why we almost died in the process. It would seem that the two devices were trying to come together. To join Spirit and Mastery as one. You contained the Mastery in this time, so the Spirit had to make the trip from our time to yours. And...and it needed energy to power that trip. That's where _we_ came in, you see. And that's why the doctor found us 'drained' of life – our energy."

"So, what are you saying, Giles?" Buffy asked. "We were used as Human batteries so this thing could take a joyride?"

"Essentially, yes." He turned back to Picard. "If you hadn't trapped one here, then missing deutanium–"

"Deuterium," corrected Data.

"Yes, well, that would have been the least of your worries. Who's to say where we all would have ended up or what state we would have been in. The only reason we are alive today is due to the advances in medical treatment here."

"How do you know all this?" Riker questioned suspiciously.

"That's his job," said Buffy from her seat at the far end of the table. "Or it used to be. He knows all the bad, and I fight it."

Xander stepped in: "She's a Vampire Slayer. The chosen one, I might add."

"And I'm a vampire," said Spike.

"But we don't kill him," added Xander. "Though I'm still not sure of the _why_."

If everyone else was having their piece, then so was Willow. "I'm a witch."

The room seemed to suddenly fall silent; all eyes fixed on her. "A...a _good_ witch."

Riker was having non of this. "Captain, you can't seriously be entertaining this nonsense? Vampires and goblins? Monsters and witchcraft? Its myth. They don't exist." He made his final point while giving the Scooby Gang an unyielding glare.

Spike's face came from the shadows just enough to see. "I wouldn't bet on that, mate."

They watched as his brow furrowed and his face deformed into a mask of evil. "You people might wanna be more open-minded. Before it gets you killed."

Riker rolled his eyes. "Shapeshifters, Captain–"

Buffy cut the commander off: "You guys saw Spike on fire, right? Anyone else here miss that? He's a vampire – the undead. Sunlight, crosses, wooden stake through the heart... all pretty much no-no's for him."

"Hey!" Spike yelled out. "Do you mind, Slayer? Don't want all these space-cadets knowin' how to finish me off."

Dr. Crusher joined the debate: "None of these people are shapeshifters, Commander. They're all Human. And normal. Apart from him." She motioned at Spike. "But I _would_ like to examine them in respect to their abilities if they don't mind."

Buffy made a noise like she didn't much fancy being probed again. "If it's not too much to ask," she said, "how are we going to get home? I have a sister who needs looking after and my mom isn't well. I really have to get back to them."

Willow nodded. "And I have...someone."

Giles put down his reading glasses. "I'm supposed to open my shop in the morning."

Anya lifted a hand in the air. "And I work there. If I don't show up, Giles won't give me money. And I like my money."

Spike stirred in the shadows. "Passions starts at ten."

Xander felt the need to add his own reason. "I'm just not really all that cool with this whole 'being in space' gig. I like science fiction and all, ...but science fact is a lot less entertaining. I think I'd prefer to go home."

Picard sympathised with them. However odd these people were, they deserved to go home.

He directed his next question to La Forge. "Suggestions?"

"I have an idea. The Borg temporal vortex we used to travel back from twenty sixty-three. If we reconfigure the chronometric emissions to take us back to the year two thousand... we could get them back the instant they left. It'll take some work; I'll need Data on this with me, but I think it can be done."

Picard gave it thought. "I will have to speak with Starfleet Command before we attempt time travel. We have certain rules about interfering with the past. Though, technically, you don't belong here, so I can't imagine there'll be any problems in returning you home. In the meantime, what are we to do with this 'Mastery'?"

Willow piped up: "We could try to bind it – for keeps this time. Or destroy it. Magic's come a long way since the Dark Ages. I could maybe do a spell or something."

"You have a suitable spell in mind?" Giles asked her.

"Well...no. But I can...oh. I…I don't have my spell books." '_Stupid_'

"She's right, though," said Giles. "If only I had my books. I'm sure we could have found some way to stop this evil before it does any harm."

"Can it do harm?" asked the captain.

"The Spirit is free, but without its power source. I don't believe it can do much alone."

Picard let that reassure him for the time being. "When I contact Starfleet, I shall also request to download those book files for you, Mr. Giles, if you could give me the details. I suppose I should inform them that Ambassador Worf will be arriving a little late for the strategy conference."

Picard waited a moment for any questions.

"Before we can go anywhere, how do we solve our deuterium problem?" he enquired.

Data replied: "There is an option." He worked the screen on the wall. "A decommissioned Federation planetary observatory at Tri Ro'ku Six." An image of the observatory appeared on the monitor. "It is due to be disassembled within the next few days." He punched up another image. "It has a small supply of deuterium in storage that will be sufficient for our requirements."

Geordi picked up from there. "In the meantime, we can use the ramscoops to filter a deuterium substitute from natural space gases. It'll give us enough to get to the observatory."

"How soon can we get there, Data?" said Picard.

"At full impulse, we can be there in thirteen hours and twenty seven minutes, Captain."

'_Jeez_' Buffy thought to herself. "Couldn't we get an _exact_ time on that?"

Data raised an eyebrow.

"Can we at least manage warp one?" asked Picard.

"That would be inadvisable," Data responded.

"Very well; full impulse. Make it so."

As they all made their way out, Picard asked to see Giles in his readyroom. Buffy joined them. The others were shown to their quarters, with security officers never far behind.


	5. Calm Before A Storm

**- Calm Before A Storm -**

_**5**_

Captain Picard welcomed them into his private readyroom, inviting them to take a seat.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Giles' face lit up. "Too right. That is...I think I rather would, thank you."

Buffy gave him a nudge. "We...we don't have any money..."

"That's quite alright; there's no charge," Picard assured them.

Buffy could hardly believe her ears. "Oh. Well...I'll have a diet coke."

The captain stepped up to a hole in the wall.

"Is he making a withdrawal?" Buffy whispered to Giles.

"Tea. Earl Grey. Hot."

They watched as a cup of brown liquid materialised within the small recess. Giles was completely dumbfounded. Picard signalled him to have a go.

So, Giles bent and spoke into the replicator. His expression was that of someone who was well aware he was making a fool of himself. "Uh...Tea. Earl Grey. Hot. …With milk. ...And sugar. ...Please."

Picard eased into his chair. "Mr. Giles, I hope you realise that you are asking me to take a great deal of what you say on faith."

Buffy quickly responded: "I hope _you_ realise the forces you're up against."

"With all due respect, Miss Summers, what do you know of true evil?"

"Plenty. Need I mention how many times I've saved the world? I've been fighting evil since before you were born."

Picard was about to argue when he realised that, technically, she was right. "Point taken."

She watched him pick up a small Etch-A-Sketch from his desk. "I'll make a list of the books you would like us to search for."

* * *

When Xander and Anya had arrived at their quarters, they found that the closets were well stocked with clothing. Some of it almost resembled 20th century gear.

Xander checked himself out in a full-length mirror. He was wearing an odd, ribbed, white top with long sleeves. He tucked the top into his beige trousers. On the outside of each trouser leg was a thin gold strip.

Picking up a brown, buttonless jacket from the bed, he slipped it on and turned to Anya. "I look like I'm going to a Battlestar Galactica convention."

She came over and straightened up his collar. "I think you look manly. Heroic. You're my Han Solo."

"Really?" He had liked the sound of that until he remembered Riker. "You sure you wouldn't prefer me in a...'Starfreak' uniform?"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Don't think I didn't see you oglin' that big grizzly beefcake just now!"

Anya tried to reply but Xander jumped in: "That's right. The guy with the big steamy look in his eyes and the 'I can go all night, baby, I'm cool and I know it' grin on his face. Straddling chairs and posing like a big freak. You want him, don't you? Go ahead and tell me straight. After all ... how can I compete with that? I'm just a great, big...goof." He slumped onto the bed.

"I was just admiring his facial hair."

"What?"

She got down on her knees in front of him and held his hands. "I can't help it if I find well-groomed facial hair attractive, Xander. And I've never seen one that well maintained before."

"His _beard_ turns you on? You never told me you had a thing for beards."

"It didn't seem that important until you got all crazy over it. You were jealous!"

He shrugged. "You _were_ staring at him a lot. And he is pretty buff. For a guy."

"Xander, you are the only man I am attracted to and I like our sex. A lot. I _love_ you.

...Besides, if you were to grow a beard like that, you'd be twice as hot as him." She snuggled up to him. "You wanna...go re-align our 'planetary bodies' or something?"

Xander let his jealousy subside. "Better secure those docking-clamps, sugar; 'cos this space pilot's comin' in for a hard landing."

* * *

"I fold," said Beverly, throwing her hand in.

"Me too," Deanna decided, dropping her cards.

Data took a third of a second to consider all Riker's possible hand combinations then put in his chips. "I will match your six and raise by three."

They were gathered around the circular poker table in Riker's quarters; playing a quick hand to relieve some of the days' stress.

"Anyway," Beverly continued her conversation with the counsellor, "I examined them all. Twice. I couldn't find _anything_ to explain their abilities. Buffy managed to dislocate Chancellor Martok's jaw, yet her muscle structure is completely normal. It's just the strangest thing. And the dead one – Spike – he really _is_ dead. He's a walking, talking corpse. You can see that he's thinking, but there's nothing there. I don't know how to explain it."

Deanna nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. It's the same when Data removes his emotion chip. I see him, but I can't feel his presence."

"You know; he came in to sickbay asking for a pint of _blood_ if you can believe that!"

"Oh my God!" said Troi. "What did you do?"

"I had to get Geordi to create a replicator program for a cup of warm O-negative!"

"That's disgusting!"

Data turned over his whole card. "Flush to beat."

Riker flipped his. "Straight flush, Data! Don't look so surprised. It takes more than a calculating mind to win poker."

Data removed his dealer cap and left the table. "I have to go now. I must give a tour for our new guests."

They said their goodbyes and Data went.

Riker started to pack up his deck, then stopped. "Did you notice the way that strange girl was looking at me in the observation lounge?" he asked Beverly.

"Can't say I did."

"I think she's attracted to me."

"She probably couldn't resist your rugged charm, Will," mocked Deanna.

"Ah, you're just jealous."

* * *

Buffy hadn't been in her room more than two minutes when Willow came knocking.

"There's something I _have_ to show you!" she said, leading Buffy to the desktop computer. "It took me a while to figure out how to work this thing, but I found a way to download stuff. I just tapped into the data-stream they're using to get the books that Giles–"

"Whoa there, Will. You lost me already."

"Right. Well, I know it was wrong and against all laws of nature and I only did it to find out if we get home all right. I didn't intend on reading all the files, it just sort of...happened."

"What are you talking about? What files?"

Willow pointed to the small screen.

Buffy looked. "Willow!" It was a file from The United Earth Census Archive for one 'Rosenberg, Willow'. It had everything from her birth to...

"I know, Buffy, ...but read it!"

Buffy shook her head. "This is wrong, we can't..." But as she read, Buffy realised what was wrong with the picture. "This isn't right."

"Exactly."

"It says here you married Oz last month."

"It also says we had two kids. Girls. Betsy and Alexandra. I work for a computer software company. Or so it says."

"I don't understand this..."

"Oh, it gets better, Buffy. _You_ never moved to Sunnydale. You didn't burn your old Gym down and you work in a fashion boutique!"

"This isn't us!"

"I know. We have to tell Giles."

"No. I'll tell Giles. You should go on the tour with the others. I know how much you're lovin' all this."

"Am I bad? I miss Tara so much; I really do! But this is all so...amazing. I mean, Buffy, we're in _space_!"

"You're _not_ bad and it _is_ amazing. That's why you're going. Just don't mention this to the guys 'till we know what to tell them, okay?"

The door slid open to reveal Spike flanked by two burly guards.

"Don't worry, I'm not stoppin'. Just wanted to thank you for nearly blastin' me into space earlier today."

Buffy headed out the door. "There's still time, Spike. Technically you _are_ dead."

"Where are you goin'?" he said to her.

"Out. You go with Willow on the tour. And make sure nothing happens to them."

Then she was gone.

"What bloody tour?"

* * *

Data's tour of the ship had taken them to the bridge, engineering, the arboretum and science lab 1 where the 'Mastery' was kept.

Willow had been enthralled the whole time, nodding at Data a lot and asking many questions. Xander hadn't understood a word. He was just glad he hadn't seen anymore of those big windows. He was more concerned with trying to look like a manly 'Han Solo' type hero, with Anya under his arm. Spike was excruciatingly bored. Bored to the point of death – if he wasn't already. Sure this place was pretty groovy, but it wasn't really vampire-friendly. He couldn't go near windows on the chance they passed too close to a star system and there weren't any decent crypts in the entire place. Hell, they didn't even have satellite! '_No,_' he'd decided, '_this place sucks_.' But there was one bonus. No Harmony! '_Thank Christ_' Plus, he had nearly 24 hours of Slayer. '_Did I just think that?_..._Get a grip!_'

"Are you people _tryin_' to get me fried?" Spike said on seeing the huge row of windows in Ten-Forward.

"You are perfectly safe, Mr. Spike–"

"Hey – it's just Spike, alright? We'll have less of the 'mister'. It's way too dorkish."

"Very well... Spike. We are almost half a light year from the nearest system. You will be safe." Data saw that Xander was gazing nervously across the sparse lounge and out the window. "Are you quite all right, Mr. Harris?" he asked.

"I was just thinkin'. That glass. It's safe, right? I mean...it's the only thing stopping us from being sucked out into space...so it's gotta be pretty tough."

"It is a transparent aluminium/plexiglas composite chemically bonded to–"

"POP!" Xander exclaimed. "That's the first thing that'd happen – our eyes would pop out of their sockets. Then the blood boils over and your veins burst. Your whole body swelling up like a nightmare balloon, then brain soup–"

"Enough, already!" said willow in disgust. "They're safe. I'm sure."

"Miss Rosenberg is correct," Data confirmed. "The physical framework of the ship is reinforced during powered flight by a structural integrity field."

"See," chirped Willow.

"Well, I'm glad we cleared that up. I feel so much more reassured," Xander retorted sarcastically.

"I've been thinkin'," said Spike. "Maybe I should look myself up. Assuming I managed not to go and get myself all dusted the past three hundred 'n' seventy years."

"I wouldn't bother. Really," Willow said to him.

"Would any of you care for a beverage?" Data queried.

"Nah," replied Xander. "It's been one hell of a day, so I think I'm gonna go get some well-earned R.E.M's."

Willow agreed. "I _am_ pretty wiped out. I'm gonna go to bed."

"Well," sighed Spike. "Guess that just leaves you and me, Artoo."

"It would appear so ...Spike. I understand that you are unable to cause physical injury to any 'innocent' individual due to the microchip that is imbedded within your cerebral cortex."

Spike frowned at him. "Christ. You talk more bollocks than Giles, mate."

* * *

Lights dimmed throughout the Enterprise and the nightshift came on duty.

The ship wound down for the night.

* * *

Clawing Crawling Gnawing Choking Drowning Burning Cloudy BLOOD

Dark Flowing Cascading Surrounding Filling Red Danger DEATH!

Buffy woke with a horrific start to find blackness.

Remembering what the security officer had told her, she called: "Lights!"

The room lit up immediately. She was alone – in bed – in this strange new future.

The wrong future.

Come morning, she would have to explain to the gang that they were not only out of their time,

...But out of their entire universe.


	6. First Tremor

**- First Tremor -**

_**6**_

The Enterprise arrived at Tri Ro'Ku-6 the next morning and took up a stationary position aft of the observatory. Lieutenant Commander Data had beamed over alone to restart the environmental systems and initialise the artificial gravity generators in preparation for the engineering crew.

The seventeen deuterium pods had to be examined carefully before being declared safe for transport to the ships cargo bay.

* * *

When Giles and Buffy had approached Picard the night before with Willow's discovery, he had asked them if they ever heard of a man named 'Khan Noonien Singh' – a product of 20th century genetic engineering who rose to dictatorial power in 1992 and caused the Eugenics Wars. Khan escaped Earth in 1996 on the S.S. Botany Bay.

"I must have slept through that," Buffy had said.

Giles had indicated that these events had _not_ taken place.

And so, to Buffy's disdain, she and Giles were made to sit through yet another examination.

* * *

A second conference was called first thing. All were present who attended the previous meeting...

"An alternate reality?" Xander found it a little hard to take in.

"How does that work?" asked Anya.

Picard asked the doctor to make her report.

"Well, it's complicated, but all matter in this universe has a specific 'signature'. When I examined Mr. Giles and Buffy yesterday, I found that their cellular RNA was resonating at a slightly different frequency to that of the matter in this universe. I'm not surprised I hadn't noticed sooner; the difference is so minute and it was agreed upon that you were from the past."

Buffy leant onto the table. "That's all very...technical, but what does it all mean?"

Data stepped forward to explain. "It would seem that the artefact not only brought you through time, but into another dimension. One that differs slightly from your own."

Buffy didn't much like the sound of that. It made her nervous. It made her feel even farther from home.

"Even the mystical chronicles and spell books I asked for never existed in this reality," groaned Giles.

The rest of the gang were too numb to speak. Even the callous Spike.

Buffy expressed her deepest concern: "How are we going to get home now?"

"If we were to travel back in time to the year two thousand," Data explained, "It would be your time – but not your reality. It would not be the same."

Geordi thought hard. He could see how worried the newcomers were and he wanted to find a way to get them home. "Data?" he said, thinking aloud. "What do we know about multidimensional transporter devices?"

The android cocked his head to the side as he accessed files. "The multidimensional transporter device modifies transporter functions to allow beaming to an alternate universe. It was developed in the 'mirror' universe. Deep Space Nine has had more experience with this device. They may have more detailed information."

Geordi considered that. "Hypothetically, Data, if we knew how this device worked – do you think it would be possible to alter the resonating frequency to transport to the universe that matches _their_ signal?" he asked, pointing at the Scooby Gang.

Data tilted his head again. "I have insufficient information to answer that question, Geordi. Assuming we were able to transport them to the correct universe, it would still be the wrong time."

Geordi shook his head. "Not if we went back in time _first_, Data!"

"Ah, I see."

Buffy forced a syllable out of the confusion: "Huh?"

"I get it," said Spike. "We go back in time, then these guys do 'the jiggy' on us and stick us back in our dimension. Simple."

"Precisely," agreed Data.

Buffy, Xander, Anya, Giles and even Willow were looking at Spike like he'd grown a second head.

"What?" said Spike. "I used to know a _lot_ of fancy words, you know. Just 'cos you're all illiterate."

"Alright," Picard continued, "Geordi – get all the data DS Nine has on this transport device and work with Data to find a solution."

La Forge and Data gave each other a nod.

"Are we ready to get underway?" Picard asked of Geordi.

"All the pods are onboard and my crew are back from the observatory. We just have to fill the main tank and we're good to go, Captain."

"Meanwhile," Data said, "I would like to take our guests over to the observatory. I thought they might be interested in seeing the Enterprise from the outside."

The captain smiled a little. "Yes, Mr. Data, of course. I think they would find that very interesting."

* * *

On the way to transporter room 3, Xander couldn't resist asking Willow and Buffy a question.

"So, what am I in this universe? Or what was I? What interesting path did my life take without all the slaying and saving the world and almost gettin' killed everyday? I'd have had more time to concentrate on my studies – I might even have got some of those qualifications people are always raving about. I could have been a pilot...or a fireman. A quirky talk show host! Am I close? C'mon, tell me."

Buffy and Will started to look around awkwardly, avoiding his question and eye contact altogether.

Xander let out a puff of air. "I was a bum."

"Pretty much," Will confirmed.

"Even in a world without vampires, I'm a loser. I probably didn't even have a girlfriend either. No Faith. Definitely no Cordelia. And Anya would have been dead about a thousand years before I was born. My life here sucked."

"But you _do_ have me," Anya pointed out.

"That's right," agreed Willow. "And you're not a bum. You're a handyman. You're 'handy'."

"You're Handy Xandy," Buffy added.

"You guys," he said with mock teary sentiment.

* * *

They arrived at the transporter room and were introduced to Transporter Chief Warren who ran them through the basics of how they were able to 'beam' a person.

Xander, finding it quite disturbing, pulled the gang to one side. "You actually wanna let them break you up into tiny pieces? ...On the hope they'll put you back together at the other end with your face on the right side of your head! Well, you can just count me out of that little experience."

"I want to see the ship, Xander," Anya stated.

"Anya!" He fumbled for words. "Remember we watched that film – 'The Fly'? – You could come back with your insides on the outside."

Willow gave him a shove. "Don't worry, Anya, he's just a technophobe."

"Will, I keep tellin' you – I don't have a problem with you being gay."

"A technophobe, Xander," Willow said. "Not a homophobe."

"I knew that." He turned back to his girlfriend. "Please, Anya. The idea of this beaming thing just gives me the wiggins."

Spike called out from the transporter pad: "Look, if Captain Starbuck's not man enough to join us, let 'im stay."

Buffy, Giles, Willow and Anya joined Spike and Commander Data on the platform.

"She'll be fine." Buffy said to Xander. "She's with us."

* * *

The six of them materialised in the main observation room. The vast oval shaped area appeared to have once contained equipment and control terminals – all cleared away before the observatory had been abandoned. Off to the right of them, a passage led away into another section of the structure.

Data watched them to gauge their reaction to their transporter adventure.

"Wow," said the Slayer. "That was...different."

"That was so cool!" Willow enthused. "I'm all tingly." She shivered excitedly.

Giles was astounded. "Remarkable."

Anya seemed fairly unfazed, and Spike simply shrugged it off.

Before them, an enormous one-piece window filled almost the entire length of the room.

As they approached it, the staggering curve of the planet Tri Ro'Ku-6 came into view beneath them. Its viciously ravaging climate was clear to see – heavy ion storms tore across the globes' radiation-soaked surface like wild living twisters.

Spike was still pretty bored with the dreariness of it all. "And you lot thought Sunnydale had a bad atmosphere," he joked.

"This observatory was designed to study the unique atmospheric turbulence of Tri Ro'Ku-Six," Data offered. "Until it was found that the long-term effect of the high radiation levels caused by the storms was too great a risk for the scientists working here. The project was then abandoned."

"Fascinating," said Giles.

Spike shook his head. One Giles was bad enough.

"I thought you said we'd be able to see the Enterprise, Data," Willow said eagerly.

"I will have to bring us about. Remain here. I will be back shortly."

And he left them for the passageway.

* * *

Data entered a small side-room off the corridor, and ran his fingers over the control panel there. He accessed the rusty propulsion system and fired all the starboard manoeuvring thrusters.

* * *

In the observation room, the gang were alarmed when the structure began to creak. The sound of an old generator started to hum beneath their feet and they realised, looking through the window, that they were beginning to rotate to the left.

* * *

Data monitored their orbit on the external sensor panel. He stopped. Something was wrong. He checked and double-checked his memory engrams.

There were 30 seconds missing from his recent memory files.

'_No, wait. There they are!_'

Data shook off the odd experience and engaged a reverse port thruster to stabilise their orbit.

* * *

Out the window, they all watched as the massive ball of the planet slipped away to reveal space. The observatory slowly came to rest. And there she was. Hovering before them – huge and sleek – lit by powerful spotlights running over her smooth, grey surface. A beautiful, streamlined angel of space.

The Enterprise.

When Data returned to the main room, he found them in awe of the ship.

"It's so different from how I imagined," commented Willow.

Buffy agreed. "It's amazing."

"Are those the... warp engines?" asked Giles, pointing. "And that must be the bridge."

"It's so _big_," Anya declared.

Spike chuckled. "Come off it, people. It looks bloody ridiculous."

The others disagreed – it was serene...

BOOM!

The observatory rocked violently.

Buffy caught Willow before she toppled over. "What the hell was that?"

* * *

On the Bridge of the Enterprise, Captain Picard watched as an almighty explosion took out the observatory's east wing.

He shot up from his command chair. "Get them out of there!"

At the tactical station, Lt. Daniels called: "I can't, sir! There's some kind of interference!"

"Picard to transporter room three; get through that interference and beam our people aboard!"

Picard, Riker, Deanna and Xander watched on as smaller explosions began – running along the structure toward the main observation centre.

"_Do_ something," Pleaded Xander.

* * *

The explosions were getting closer and the gang were huddling together.

Data had not answered Buffy's question.

Spike noticed the transporter effect take hold of Buffy and Willow.

'_About bloody time_' he thought. Then he looked around for the others ... and they were all gone. He was alone. "Now that's just soddin' typical!"

In the passageway, the walls began to glow orange. Spike backed off until he hit the window. '_No..._'

He saw as a great wall of fire came forth from the corridor to consume him.

'_Not like this..._'

* * *

Buffy stepped off the platform and went to the transporter controls.

The young man there was not Chief Warren.

"Where's Spike?"

He frowned at her. "I had some trouble locking on to your life-signs, but I'm sure I got you all."

Willow came up to them. "_Life_-signs? Spike isn't alive."

"Wha–?"

Buffy stepped right up to him. "Look, there's no time – beam the corpse over here NOW."

* * *

On the main viewscreen of the bridge, the observatory exploded in an intense fireball, which quickly died out in the airless vacuum of space.

* * *

Spike was in darkness, his coat covering his face.

He started to realise he'd been that way for a few seconds longer than it should have taken for him to be dead. So he peeped.

Cowering in a ball at the back of the transporter pad, fire-licked and smouldered, Spike popped his head out at them.

Buffy stood there, arms folded. "Well, if it isn't William The Cowardly."

"Sod off, Slayer! Anyway... what's the big idea? I nearly got cooked back there!"

"That's a good question, Spike," she said. "You guys know how to get to the bridge, right?"

"I remember," Willow replied.

"Take me there."

* * *

When the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge, Xander came running to them.

"Thank God you got out in time!" he said as he held Anya tightly. "I'm not gonna say 'I told ya so'."

Captain Picard made his way to them from the command chair. "Are you alright? Are any of you hurt?"

"We're fine," Buffy answered sternly. "We very nearly weren't. And I wanna know why."

Data responded immediately, directing his answer at Picard: "It is possible that by initiating the propulsion systems on the observatory, after they had been offline for almost a month, I may have inadvertently caused a power surge in the command relays. This could then have ignited the primary fuel manifold causing a chain reaction."

Picard nodded. "Alright, Data, at least everyone is safe. I think you should take the rest of your shift off." He addressed the Scoobs: "It would appear this was an accident. Thankfully not a fatal one. You should rest; make use of some of our facilities. I apologies for your ordeal. This kind of thing wouldn't normally happen."

"Captain," said Data, "I am due to begin studying Deep Space Nines' files on multidimensional transport with Geordi at sixteen hundred hours."

"I'm sure he will manage without you for one day, Data. Get some rest."

"I do not require rest, Captain."

"I know that, Data. Just take some time off and relax. That's an order."

"Aye, sir."

The gang left for their rooms, not quite as satisfied with their answers as they'd have liked.

Data stayed to give a full report before returning to his own quarters.

* * *

A short time later, Picard was sat in his readyroom studying a report Giles made for him explaining the myth of this mysterious 'evil force'.

His door chimed.

"Come," he said, laying the PADD down on his desk.

La Forge came in from the bridge. "You wanted to see me, Captain?"

"Yes, Geordi. Data told me he might have caused the destruction of the observatory when he powered up the propulsion systems. What do you think?"

"It's possible. If it triggered a power surge, it could have set off the main fuel pipe." He gave it some more thought. "But it's really not that likely. Even if it had been stood idle for so long."

Picard nodded. "Geordi, I need you to put your research on hold for a while."

"You're changing my assignment?"

"Just briefly. I want you to go over our sensor records – in great detail. I want you to find out exactly what did happen over there. A team is already on its way to dismantle the thing, and the Federation will want to know how we managed to save them the effort. Besides which; I'm curious to know myself."

"I'll get right on it."

As the door slid shut behind La Forge, Captain Picard prayed that Data's theory would be confirmed.

He really didn't need any more complications right now.


	7. Clear Skies Fade To Black

**- Clear Skies Fade To Black -**

_**7**_

The early afternoon sun draped a warm and radiant veil over the world below. Spike shaded his eyes from its glare with a hand. He wasn't used to being out in the brightness of daylight. It was almost time. Buffy was coming. This time round the Slayer was going down. This time she was gonna lose.

* * *

Xander gave Buffy an earnest look. This was deep. "Buffy. I know we've been through a lot to get this far, but don't worry about us. We can handle ourselves. Me and Willow, we're all geared up for whatever Spike throws at us. We're a _team_ and we can work together on this, Okay?"

She nodded.

Xander was glad she understood the seriousness of what they were about to face. "But if you can hit another one of those homeruns, the game's ours!" He patted her arm. "Go get 'em, Slayer."

"You can do it," Willow assured her from her seat in the dugout. She looked pretty funny in her helmet.

Buffy put the hard-hat on and took the bat in her hands. "One Babe Ruthian homerun coming up," she promised with verve before moving out onto the baseball infield.

It was the Dodgers' stadium, overlooking downtown L.A. and the gang were just playing a few games of three-a-side baseball for fun. Other than the six of them, the 56'000-seat arena was completely empty. Barring the simulated Catcher.

"I'm up next," Xander said to Willow as he sat down with her in the dugout. "Better get me psyched up, Will."

"Or maybe I could get you to tell me what's up," she said, sliding her helmet off onto her lap.

"Huh? What's up with who?"

"C'mon; you might have the others fooled, Xander, but this is me. You haven't been yourself since we got here." She looked at him with the deepest of sincerity that only the closest of friends could know. "You're worrying me."

Xander didn't resist her. She was serious and she was right. He glanced out onto the field where the sunshine touched the Bermuda grass; where pretty much all the people who really understood him were living in the moment and enjoying it to the full. He sighed heavily. Putting things in perspective, it made his feelings seem almost void of reason. "It's stupid, ya know. I should be able to deal. We've been in lots of tough situations before now. But I can't help feelin' like – just when things were startin' to work out for me – just when I thought I'd found my place in the world... a job I'm good at... a home. A real home, not some grotty basement the Munsters' wouldn't wanna be caught undead in ... and Anya."

He watched her for a moment. "Nothing like wakin' up in the wrong universe to shake your tree. And it scares me, Willow. What if we never get home?"

"We _will_ get home, Xander. I've been researching some stuff and you wouldn't believe how much these guys time-travel. I mean, to say they have rules against it, they're pretty lacking in the discipline department. And this whole dimension thing – to them it's like...old news. Been there, done that, got the cellular RNA to prove it. I know they'll work this out."

Maybe she was right. But maybe there was something else that troubled him.

* * *

Spike, in his New York Yankee's striped uniform, slipped his cap back on as Buffy, wearing the L.A. Dodger's kit, stepped up to the batter's box.

"Your winning streak's about to end, Slayer." Standing in the pitcher's circle, he took up his set position.

Buffy dug her heals into the dirt and brought the bat up high. "Gimme your best shot, Spike."

'_You asked for it_' he thought.

The Holo-Catcher gave him a signal. '_Balls to that_' he decided. Not that he knew what the sign meant anyway. He was gonna give the Slayer something to chew on. Literally.

He checked his fielders to make sure they were ready. They took up rough positions on either side of him. Anya seemed a little disgruntled and Giles just looked completely out of place. But they were ready. Spike feinted back, stepped forward with a hard swing and pitched a hell of a shot. It wasn't what he was going for, though.

He'd somehow managed to send her a perfect batting shot and she slammed it right back at him.

'_Christ!_' The vamp ducked in the nick of time as the ball flashed passed his head. It was away. So was Buffy – she dumped the bat and went for first base.

The tightly bound ball sailed along for a couple of hundred yards before gravity worked its will and eased it back to earth...where it continued to roll away from the infield. Buffy passed first base, scuffing the bag and ran for home.

From his position, Spike yelled at his fielders: "Well don't just STAND there, people! GET THE _BALL_!"

Giles looked at the distant ball, still moving, then looked back at Spike and shrugged. "It's gone."

Anya was annoyed. "They're going to win."

Spike opened his arms in an appeal to the gods – maybe they'd send him a better team.

The homerun was well and truly in the bag.

* * *

In the dugout, Willow saw that Xander still wasn't convinced. "And, even if they don't find a way to get us back – which they will,at least you've got the most important thing right here."

Anya.

"I know. You're right, but...there's this whole new evil goin' down and...how can you fight what you can't see? What can _I_ do? I don't have powers. I'm not a superhero, Willow. "

"No, you're not," she said. "Buffy's the Slayer. I conjure dark forces to do my bidding. You don't have any of that. Still, you're always out on the frontline with us every step of the way. You're the bravest one of all of us. Brave, smart _and_ funny. You're the three-in-one collector's edition Xander. You're not a 'superhero'. ...You're a _hero_."

He didn't know quite what to say. "Wow. Willow. You do a mean psyche-up."

"Just call me Babe Ruth," Buffy said coming down from the field.

"Okay," said Xander. "Only shorter. And less with the fat and ugly."

"So..." Willow began. "You...got a…a homerun."

Buffy couldn't tell if she was asking or making a statement. "You guys _did_ see my shot, right?"

"Uh..."

"Well..."

"You're kidding me? After that 'go get em girl' lecture?"

"Well..." Willow tried to explain, "Xander was having a slight crisis..."

"Yeah, I'm kinda feeling less than a man. It's this whole crazy predicament we're in. There's a fear I might be loosing my new-found cool status."

Buffy chuckled. "Even Spike seems cool – most of the time – and you're _way_ badder than him."

* * *

"Computer! Gimme another soddin' ball!" bellowed Spike.

"Please re-state your request," came the answer.

"Here!" shouted Willow as she picked another ball from a barrel full of them and tossed it his way. "No need to get grouchy just 'cos you're losing."

"I want to be on Xander's team," Anya moaned.

"An," replied Xander, "you were on my team the last two games."

"Yes, but we won those."

"You can't win 'em all though, Sweetie."

"You have," she muttered under her breath, but enough to be heard.

"It's no great wonder we're bloody-well losing!" moaned Spike. "Where's our team spirit? Sittin' on its arse in the bar, I'll wager. Sippin' on a fancy cocktail with its feet up being hand-fed grapes. 'Cos it's not here!"

"For goodness sake, Spike, it's only a game," Giles pointed out.

"You're one to talk, Gramps. You were all – 'Bloody irrational, typically American, glorified Rounders bats! You wouldn't have this absurdity with Cricket!' – All 'cos you couldn't hit the ball. You haven't even _tried_ to catch one yet."

"If you're suggesting you could do a better job of fielding...?"

* * *

Xander came up to bat. He took his stance, balancing on the inside balls of his feet; bat up with a loose grip; eyes focused on the Pitcher.

Giles stretched his arms and loosened up his neck before he prepared to throw.

Spike stood near right field, hands on hips.

Bringing his knee up and stepping forward, Giles let rip with a Fastball.

Xander saw it coming and cracked it hard. He hit a killer Flyball that sailed up, up and well away.

Yep. Xander the Man was back in the game.

"Well, aren't you going to get it?" Giles called to Spike.

The ball landed in the far seating area and bounced off in all directions. A good 5 or 600 yards away.

"Not likely!"

Xander finished his homerun to Buffy and Willow's applause and the game was over.

The sunlit vamp threw down his cap. "Who's half-baked idea was it to play baseball, anyway?"

"Hey!" Xander shouted at him. "Just think yourself lucky we let you come. You're only here to make up the numbers, buster."

"Oh, yeah? So, why'd they bring you along, College-Boy? Oh, wait a minute, you don't go to college do you? In fact, come to think of it, you never did!"

"At least I'm not a freak!"

"Ya' think?"

"Impotent demon!"

"Big, ugly Lug!"

It was like watching tennis – The gang looked from Xander to Spike and back to Xander.

"I think I'm gonna hit him," Xander said to them.

"Don't waste your energy. I've got better things to do with my time than hang with a bunch a' geeks like you lot!" Having said that, Spike turned and stormed away in a huff.

Xander remembered the mass of 'dead' bodies they had seen when they first met the Klingons. "Hey, Will, ...remember that thing we joked about earlier? You think you could do it?"

"Sure I could. No problem."

Buffy looked at the two of them. "What thing?"

* * *

Spike tried to find the door. He was sure it was near the scoreboard somewhere.

Suddenly he pricked up his ears – he thought he heard ... a stampede?

Stepping back onto the grass, he saw a strange tunnel he hadn't noticed before. It looked out of place somehow. He peered tentatively down the hole. The rumble of thunder got louder and seemed to grow closer...

A battalion of raging, bloodthirsty Klingons – armed to the rotten teeth – tore out of the tunnel and came rushing at him, waving spears and swords. Spike's mouth opened but nothing more than a whimper came out. He spun on his heels and bolted.

* * *

Stood under a computer arch, The five Scoobies watched him run, laughing amongst themselves.

Willow saw that Spike was heading for them and quickly entered some new instructions into the computer.

* * *

The vampire skidded to a stop on the edge of a canyon, knocking dirt and stone over the sharp lip. On the other side stood the Scooby Gang.

Buffy had her arms folded. "So, _now_ you wanna hang with us? How ironic."

* * *

An incoming message appeared on Lt. Daniels' console.

Picard heard the chime from his post at the centre of the bridge and spun to face tactical. "Report."

"We're receiving a message from the Klingon vessel _J'Ktah RiJ_, Captain. They will arrive at our position shortly to transport the Klingon delegates to Earth."

"Very well, Lieutenant. Acknowledge their request and inform the ambassador to prepare his group for transport." He swivelled back to the viewscreen and surveyed the wreckage of the planetary observatory one last time. "Off screen," he commanded before the holographic viewer faded away, leaving bare wall.

Riker saw the look on Picard's tired face. "Something troubling you, Captain? Other than destroying a perfectly good science station?"

"I was just thinking about this 'entity' that's been set loose on our ship. If it really isn't a life-form... if it's nothing more than a force of evil... how can we hope to determine what it is capable of? Or what it wants?" He tapped a button on his armrest and the screen reappeared. "If Data didn't accidentally destroy the observatory, ...then someone, or some_thing_, did."

The turbolift doors opened to a bothered-looking Chief Engineer.

Picard rose to meet him. "Geordi. You have the report I asked for?"

He waved a PADD at Picard. "Right here. But I think we should talk in private."

"Number One," Picard said, motioning for Riker to join them as he led the way to his readyroom.

* * *

Geordi didn't bother to sit down. "I've been over our sensor logs, Captain, and there didn't seem to be any faults with the observatory."

"So Data's wrong?" Riker speculated.

"Not necessarily, Commander. There could have been a problem and we just didn't pick it up."

"What caused the transporter interference?" asked Picard.

"Well, that could have been one of two things. A dampening field put up to block the transporters – in which case it failed when the field generator was destroyed in one of the smaller explosions. Or simply a wave of ionic interference from the surface."

Picard frowned with dissatisfaction. "We're still no closer to an answer, then."

Geordi handed him the PADD. "So, I decided to analyse the observatories schematics."

The captain didn't like what was on the small screen before him.

La Forge explained: "The first explosion was in the fuel storage pod. And the smaller ones went off exactly where all of the self-destruct ordnance packages were located. Someone on that observatory set off the auto-destruct sequence and managed to do it undetected. As much as I hate to admit it ... It had to be Data."

Riker couldn't believe it. "There must be another explanation, Geordi."

"I wish I could find one."

It was beginning to make sense to Picard – Data reading the inscription and his malfunctioning. It was slowly becoming clear. "It _was_ Data. We must have missed something when he was examined. He may have been affected by the anomaly in a way we weren't able to detect."

Lt. Daniels' worried voice came over the Comm system. "Captain; please report to the bridge."

* * *

The three senior officers stepped back onto the bridge and Picard asked for Daniels' report.

"Someone onboard is trying to access the auto-destruct initiation codes!"

"Lock out the codes!" ordered Picard immediately. "All of them!"

He knew what Data was capable of. Once the codes were locked out, they would have to request new codes from Starfleet Command. It was a drastic measure, but...

"Lt. Daniels – take a security team and find Commander Data, wherever he is, and immobilise him."

"Sir?"

"That is my instruction, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

"Commander Riker – take tactical. Geordi – I want you at Ops."

Ensign Fox at the Conn double-checked what her console was telling her. "Captain! We're moving!"

"Heading?"

"Two, four, zero - mark - seven, five, nine. Straight into the planet's atmosphere!"

"All stop, Ensign!"

"Conn not responding, Captain."

"Red alert! Shields up! Direct all available power to shields."

"Shields are not responding!" called Riker. "All bridge controls have been re-routed!"

"Get them back!"

* * *

Spike was trapped. He couldn't get any farther back and the mad fleet of Klingons was getting very close. He had no other choice. Stepping back from the canyon edge, he made a desperate run and leapt across the abyss.

But it was just too wide.

He realised he was about to fall to a possible 'Death' when the canyon, the field, and the Klingon warriors faded away. Spike hit the holodeck floor with his face and the alert sirens went off. Trouble.

* * *

"We may have to evacuate the ship," admitted Picard. "Inform the crew. Tell them to take the lifeboats to Tri Ro'Ku-Four. It's the only M-Class planet in the system without indigenous life."

Riker tried to work his station. "It's no use, sir. All bridge functions have been isolated from the system."

"La Forge – go to engineering and try to shut down the propulsion systems."

Picard thought. There was nothing he could do. He didn't understand what was happening. "Find me Rupert Giles."

* * *

Giles led the group out into the flashing red corridor of the ship, still in baseball kits. "Let's all remain calm until we know if–"

A group of security officers ran screaming at them with guns and sensor handsets.

"OUT OF THE WAY!"

"HE'S HEADING FOR THE TURBOLIFT!"

Just as quickly, they disappeared down the passageway.

"...Or perhaps not," finished Giles rather bewildered.

"This universe is starting to scare me," Anya grumbled.

Xander tapped the badge on his chest. "Uh...Xander Harris to...someone?"

No response.

"We should head for the bridge," Buffy decided.

* * *

The forward hull of the Enterprise' saucer section hit the atmosphere of Tri Ro'Ku-6 with a bone-shaking jolt and the tip turned fiery red as it dented the ozone.

The turbulence sent a thrashing of angry shudders through the length of the ship.

* * *

Ensign Fox could only watch as the warning tones sounded on her console.

Lt. Barnaby manned the Ops station and quickly checked his readings.

Riker gave an update: "Hull temperature is at five thousand degrees and rising. At our current trajectory and rate of decent, we'll burn up within a minute!"

Picard hit his Comm badge. "Bridge to engineering – Geordi, can you–?"

"Our computers are off-line, Captain," came his frantic reply. "I'm trying to re-route power to the bridge manually but it's gonna take some time."

"We don't have any time," said Riker, holding onto his station for support.

Picard was about to order La Forge to try and completely shut down the engines and instigate an immediate evacuation, when Riker responded to a beep at tactical.

"Captain! There's a ship entering orbit!"

Barnaby turned. "It's the J'Ktah RiJ!"

* * *

The re-fitted Bird of Prey slipped into a stationary orbit level with the Enterprise.

On the bridge, the Captain – T'Kelan, son of Gohr – watched the screen in confused disbelief, then looked around for some rationalisation.

His second in command, Gulran, ran a quick scan. "THEIR SHIELDS ARE DOWN! THEY WILL BE DESTROYED IF THEY DO NOT PULL AWAY!"

"HAIL THEM!"

"NO REPLY! … CAPTAIN! – AMBASSADOR WORF AND CHANCELLOR MARTOK ARE STILL ONBOARD!"

On the viewer, T'Kelan saw the front of the Enterprise was engulfed in a flaming aura. "TARGET THEIR ENGINES! …FIRE DISRUPTORS!"

* * *

The wings of the Klingon ship locked into attack position and the powerful disruptor cannons fired twin blasts of energy at a key point on the hull of the Enterprise.

* * *

"THE ENTERPRISE HAS BEEN IMMOBALISED!"

T'Kelan raised a congratulatory fist. "LOCK ON TO THEM AND PULL THEM INTO A SAFE ORBIT … IF REQUIRED; DROP SHIELDS AND RE-ROUTE POWER TO THE TRACTOR BEAM!"

* * *

"What the hell are they doing?" yelled Riker after the disruptor blast hit the ship.

Fox answered: "They've knocked out our propulsion system!"

"They're locking on a tractor beam, sir!" added Barnaby.

Picard and Riker shared a glance. That was far too close a call.

"Picard to Daniels. Have you located Commander Data yet?"

There was no response.

Riker and Picard stiffened and shared another look. Could things get any worse?

Then Daniels' weary voice came over the Comm: "…Daniels here… we… managed to corner him… in the… cargo bay…"

"Try to hold him there until I arrive, Lieutenant."

"That's not gonna be possible, sir. … … He's gone."

* * *

Everything was confusion. The Enterprise was almost destroyed, the engines were dead, and Data had vanished.

Picard was not a happy captain.

Riker had some good news for him. "Geordi's done it. The bridge controls are back online."

Picard gave a mental sigh of relief.

"The hull is intact … no casualties reported, Captain," Riker finished.

"Contact Mr. Giles, Number One. And open a channel to the J'Ktah RiJ."

The Commander worked the console. "Channel open."

"This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. On behalf of my entire crew, I'd like to thank you."

He waited for the Klingon captain to respond.

"Number One?"

"The channel's open, Captain."

"Then why aren't they responding?"

Picard got his answer from his first officer: "The Klingons are charging weapons and locking on to us!"

"Raise shields!"

"Already done, sir!" answered Riker.

The ship rocked with the heavy disruptor blast.

"I'm beginning to tire of these surprises!" Picard stated to himself.

"Shields at eighty-two percent."

"Fire phasers. Target their weapons, Number One."

Riker made it so.

"Their shields are holding – weapons still active. They've fired a spread of torpedoes."

"Return fire! Photon torpedoes – keep targeting their wea–"

The bridge was thrown again.

"Shields at sixty percent!"

Then, something hit them like the wrath of an angry god and the bridge exploded in a shower of sparks. Ensign Fox was thrown out of her seat; landing with a crack at Picard's feet.

He knelt to check on her. "Status?"

Riker looked up from tactical. "They're firing through our shields!"

The damn shield modulation! "Try to reset our shield modulation and get those weapons down!"

"They targeted our shield generators. It was a direct hit."

No shields.

"Their shields are at thirty percent, Captain."

Time to bring out the big guns. "Fire a quantum torpedo …make it two. Hit their damn weapons system!"

"Aye, sir." Riker tapped in the commands and punched 'launch'.

* * *

The powerful quantum torpedoes tore across the space between the two ships.

The first hit the shields of the Bird of Prey and extinguished them just as they managed to get off another spread of torpedoes.

The second one hit the hull directly, causing a damaging explosion.

* * *

"Direct hit to their weapons systems!"

Good.

"Captain … brace for impact!"

* * *

A spread of four photon torpedoes came at the Enterprise.

Two of them sailed harmlessly between the warp nacelles and off into the void.

The remaining two slammed into the saucer section in devastating twin explosions.

* * *

All throughout the Enterprise, there was turmoil.

The corridors between the holodeck and sickbay were overrun with confusion.

The lighting had blown – replaced by an emergency backup – and in the gloom there were pipes hanging inert from panels in the ceiling. Some spewed gas which only served to further hinder the calm, and distressed crewmen were picking themselves up from the deck. A few weren't moving at all.

Buffy and her team drifted through the chaos, closely followed by a slightly pissed-off Spike.

Behind Willow, Xander held onto Anya and guided her along. She'd hurt her arm pretty badly in that last impact.

The others continued on to the elevator while he stopped to take Anya into sickbay.

However, the mess was as bad in there.

The doctor and her staff were running themselves ragged between patients both sitting and standing. All the beds were full.

It was a holocaust.

* * *

Cmdr. Riker wasn't sure how to tell Picard what he was seeing on his screen. "You won't believe this, Captain."

Picard stepped up to tactical and surveyed the sensor readings. The Klingon vessel was on a direct collision course for the Enterprise.

"Impact in thirty seconds," said Riker. "And we're dead in the water."

"We still have weapons," the Captain replied. "Disable their engines."

Riker locked on phasers.

By the time he fired, the J'Ktah RiJ made evasive manoeuvres. Arcing away from the Federation flagship, the Bird of Prey set course and went suddenly into warp.

They were gone.

* * *

Hull-breaches, casualties, dead crewmen, no shields, no propulsion, renegade kamikaze Klingons, a missing android and a vaporised space station.

Captain Picard was just about ready for some answers.

As if on cue, the turbolift doors parted to let four of the newcomers onto the dishevelled bridge.

Picard started to ask something of Giles, but he was interrupted by a voice over the Comm system.

"Captain Picard, …this is Chief Rhannon in science lab one. …We …we lost a few systems in the attack…"

"Yes, Chief, but we have more serious –"

"It's the containment field, sir…"

He didn't have to say anymore.

Bad had just got worse.


	8. Lost To Darkness

**- Lost To Darkness -**

_**8**_

The observation lounge was in uproar. People were asking questions; wanting answers. Answers that simply weren't all that clear as yet. Tempers were beginning to fray among the assemblage. Worf and Martok were in a heated argument with Giles and Buffy; blaming them for the strife that had been brought upon them, whilst Troi was refereeing between Riker, Spike and Willow. Amongst the fuss, Picard felt he might be coming down with a rare and unusual headache.

The room fell deadly silent, however, when the doors slid apart for Doctor Crusher and...

"Oh, my God! Xander!" cried Willow in shock.

He came into the lounge looking worn; his hair pasted with clotting blood. Dark crusted stains peppered his Dodgers' shirt.

Xander realised Willow's concern. "Oh, it's not mine. I... there was... it..." He seemed too upset to get the words out.

The doctor continued for him: "We were stretched a little thin during the attack. Mr. Harris here helped us move some of our more severe patients. I need to get back to sickbay as soon as I can, Captain. Things are still rather frantic there."

Picard nodded in acknowledgement.

"It was...intense," added Xander.

Buffy noted that, blood aside, Xander was looking scruffier than usual.

Xander himself was aware that the Klingons were giving him a bitter look, but at this point he didn't really give a hoot.

"There's a few rumours flying around the ship," Xander pointed out to the group. "What happened?"

"We're not sure," answered the captain, taking the opportunity to address them all. "But Commander La Forge is due here any moment with the last recorded information from our sensors. What we have been able to ascertain is that... It would appear that... It was Commander Data who destroyed the observatory."

The impact of this hit Willow hard. "Why would he do that?"

"To kill _us_," Buffy said sourly, referring to the Scoobies.

Giles took Buffy's lead to expand on her statement. "We are the only individuals in this universe who understand the nature of what this 'Spirit' is. I believe, Captain, that your Commander Data has been possessed by the evil one."

"_Possessed_?" Riker boomed in his usual stern manner. "You didn't mention possession! You said it was harmless!"

Giles flustered. "Well, I...I didn't know."

From the far side of the room, Spike let out a humoured huff. "So...Robo-Dork's gone AWOL and turned nasty, then?"

Their lack of response confirmed this. He turned to Buffy. "You didn't happen to shag him did ya, Slayer?"

Enraged, Buffy made a move for him but composed herself quickly when Giles put a hand on her shoulder. He wasn't worth it.

"Remind me again why you're even here," Giles fumed.

The vampire backed off.

Xander got them back on track: "But then he tried to kill us all, right? Himself along-with. What'sthat about?"

"The Spirit would still survive if the host-body died," said Giles. "Or, in Data's case, was destroyed. By destroying this ship, he would kill all who know of his existence _and_ free his power."

"Killing two birds with one android," said Buffy.

The doors parted again, this time for La Forge. His eyes around the optical implants were worn with stress and worry. He confirmed their fears. "When security cornered Data he used the cargo transporters to beam onto the Klingon ship while their shields were down. And there are two containers of Venoxide missing from the bay."

"Venoxide?" asked Buffy.

"Exxodine-Venoxide. It's a lethal liquid gas. We picked it up a few days ago. We...just hadn't got around to disposing of it. The co-ordinates of Data's transport took him right to their primary environmental processor."

By now it was clear to them all what he would want with the Venoxide.

"So, he took over their ship and tried to nuke us again," Buffy said.

Giles nodded. "To free his Mastery and command our souls."

"His last resort," said Xander. "Take us all to Hell and wait for another host to come sailing by in a shiny new ship."

"But he ran away," Willow murmured. "I mean...flew away."

"I was about to disable his ship," Riker informed them.

"And he already had what he needed," said Buffy.

They paused to let things sink in a little.

"Okay," Xander said at last. "The thing I'm wondering is ... where does an entity of pure evil wanna be so badly that it's willing to leave without killing the only ones who could stop it?"

They thought about that briefly. Where would it go?

Buffy remembered something. "You said the box came from a...a hole in space?"

"I still don't understand how that portal opened," Giles mentioned.

Riker recalled a Federation communiqué he had read. "Wasn't the science team at Sal Fusia-Six using an experimental sensor system?"

His captain nodded, also remembering. "Yes, that's right Number One. They're using some kind of high-level particle field."

"Could that have caused the rift to open?" Troi asked.

In the absence of Data, they all turn to La Forge.

He looked a little surprised. "I...I don't know... maybe."

"Data would have known about this," said Picard.

"And I'm guessing whatever Data knows – IT knows," Buffy surmised.

Xander made the final Scooby statement: "It's going to open the gate to the demon realm it came from!"

However, Giles added to it, "And summon its army."

"Not if we get there first!" Buffy declared, suddenly spurred into action.

At last! Something she could fight. "Captain Picard – set course for Sal Foo... thingy. Giles – I know you don't have your books, but I need you and Willow to put your heads together and give us some options – work some of that magic. Xander–" She stopped. Picard and his crew were looking at her oddly. "What?"

Geordi gave her a defeated shrug. "We're not going anywhere anytime soon. We're in pretty bad shape. There's no way we can catch up to Data before he reaches the Sal Fusia System."

Xander sighed. "That'd explain why he left us here _not_ dead."

Geordi gave a basic repair estimate of eleven hours. Fifteen if they wanted to be battle-ready –which he hoped to reduce to seven.

Picard decided to take the time to give Starfleet a full update of the situation.

As the conference was adjourned, Worf asked one last, personal, question: "What of the crew onboard the J'KTAH RIJ?"

Giles felt it only fair to be honest. "I'm afraid they may now be the beginnings of what could become a terrible army."

"Then they are lost!" Angered, Worf and the Chancellor took leave.

It wasn't long before only Picard, Troi and Riker remained in the observation lounge.

"I'm still not convinced they can be trusted," Riker remarked. "How can we be sure they're not keeping anything from us?"

"They're telling the truth, Captain," Troi responded. "And they're almost as uncertain as we are. In fact, I'm sensing that most of them are annoyed by the fact that they don't know more."

"What about the 'vampire'?" Riker asked her, emphasising the absurdity of what Spike claimed to be. "You said yourself that you can't read him."

"Yes," she answered. "But he doesn't seem to be part of their group. They shun him. From the outside, it's clear there's a dislike between Spike and the others. Obviously there would be if he represents the very thing they are opposed to. But beneath this, I feel a bond between them – on the side of the living, at least. Almost an affection. It's quite strange."

"Very touching," commented Riker. "But it doesn't change the fact that we have no proof to support their claims."

Picard took in a deep and considering breath. "I can certainly understand your misgivings, Number One. And I'm not ignorant to the possibility that they are not what they appear. However, I like to think of myself as a fairly proficient judge of character, and although the younger members of their group confound me..."

Troi smiled at this. Buffy and her friends were certainly from a world of their own.

"...I have found Mr. Giles to be a man of principle and integrity. I _do_ trust him, Will. And along with the counsellor's observations, I see no reason not to at this point. More importantly; the time may come when we need their help."

It was clear to Riker he wasn't going to win any arguments here. His captain's decisions were final and he would stand by them. Nevertheless, there was still a dangerously out of control Bird of Prey heading for a peaceful science station. In addition, if Data was onboard and really was working against them, they wouldn't know what hit them until it was too late. "Understood, Captain. About the station at Sal Fusia-Six?"

"Yes, of course. If Data is on his way there, they won't be expecting an attack. I'll request that Starfleet send someone to hold him off until we can reach them."

"What if they can't get to him in time?" asked Troi. "There are over a hundred crewmen on that station. Nearly thirty families."

Riker had a sudden flash of recollection. "I got a message from an old friend just last week – a lieutenant on the _Vasco da Gama_. He said they were populating a new colony in one of the outlying Federation systems in sector one-one-three-eight before making their way back to Earth. They should have at least reached the D'varri nebula by now."

That was between the two systems closest to Sal Fusia.

"Contact the Vasco da Gama, Number One. If they are close enough, they might help us."

Picard ended their meeting and left for his readyroom.

When the captain had gone, Riker saw that his Imzadi was giving him a sore expression. "What?"

"You're not even willing to entertain the possibility of there being supernatural forces out there, are you?"

He laughed. "No. No I'm not. It's not scientifically possible, Deanna."

"Not even in another reality?"

He looked at her as if to stand by his statement.

She smiled a bitter and humourless smile. "You know, Will, sometimes you can be the most stubborn and pig-headed person I've ever met. And that kind of attitude won't help the mission any. Don't you think things are hard enough without you adding friction? ...For an explorer, you're not very open-minded, Commander." She got up and stepped out of the room without another word.

'_Where the hell did that come from?_' Riker stayed there a while, thinking about what she had said. Then he remembered the Vasco da Gama. He left the empty conference room and went to make a call.

* * *

Balance. Clarity. Circulation. Focus. Discipline.

She quietened her mind and held it there; empty of thought, fear, worry, anger. But always alert. Yin.

'_Calmness_ _in the heart of movement is the secret of all power_'

She remained mindful at all times of her tan tien – her life breath, the straightness of her spine, and the flow of Chi through her very being. Buffy brought her arm up in a graceful, precise movement that was charged with symbolism, feeling the texture of the air she moved through.

The 'doorbell' rang.

Losing all concentration, she cursed and faced the doorway. "It's open."

The doors to Buffy's quarters parted to reveal a 'blushing' Spike. "Um..." He indicated the boundary that held him back.

"Get out."

"You've not even invited me _in_ yet."

She tapped the wall control and the door slid shut and locked.

Spike rang the bell a few times, so she gave in with a puff and opened them again.

"Look, Buffy, about what I said back there..."

"What you said, Spike, was humiliating! It was low even for you! And you had no right to air my personal life in front of anyone, let alone a group of people we hardly know! How are they ever going take us seriously when every time they see us we're fighting between ourselves? But why would I expect anything else from _you_?"

Spike was nodding in agreement. He began to speak, but she cut in: "...And I swear if you don't get out of here right now, I'm gonna ram a stake so far up your ass; you'll be crapping splinters for a _month_!"

"Ah! You don't have a stake!"

"I'll replicate one!"

"You're upset. I get that. But it's not like I meant it! I'm just on edge – I haven't had a smoke since we got here. That's nearly two days...and I can't even kill anyone to take my mind off it...It's bloody killin' me."

The Slayer seemed to stop and consider that a moment. "You know what I like about you, Spike?"

He tried to think what it could be...

"Nothing," she said flatly, returning to her T'ai Chi. She was through talking.

Spike, sullen, turned away. "...Just wanted to say sorry is all." He left and the door slid shut behind him.

Buffy found her focus was gone. She looked back at the door. Maybe Spike still had some trace of humanity in that cold shell of a body.

"Yeah, right!"

* * *

When Spike got back to his room, he decided to take some aggression out on a few of the unsecured fittings. Why the hell did he want to apologies to the Slayer, anyway?

He made sure the specially fitted dark curtains were drawn properly and sat down in submission.

There was a fairly large screen he hadn't noticed before set into a wall by the couch, so he asked the computer to 'Whack some telly on'.

It surprised him when, in reply, it asked him to specify a programme and the date at which it was aired.

'_A-ha!_'

"Passions! From…oh, I don't friggin'-well know…November, two thousand!"

"Please specify the day."

"Just play the first one of the bloody month! Damn fussy Bint! Wouldn't have this bother if you were a man," he said to the female voice of the Enterprise.

It began the episode, but he'd already seen it, so he asked it to play the next one.

And, so, Spike ordered himself up a cup of steaming blood, a couple of slices of bread to dip, and settled down into the couch to watch the long-awaited wedding of Chad and Mary Jane.

'_Wonder if Chad's evil twin's gonna turn up and ruin the reception_,' he thought absently.

* * *

It was late and Ten-Forward was relatively unoccupied. Other than a pair of ensigns taking in a night-cap and a young Vulcan having a late supper, Giles and Willow were the only patrons in the lounge.

"I'm not entirely sure what our best options are here," Giles said, inspecting the PADD before them, "Every time I look at our choices it becomes all the more perplexing."

"I know," Willow agreed, studying the little screen. "I mean, what _is_ Trixian bubble juice anyway? And who'd order Klingon bloodwine? 'Cept maybe Spike. I think we might wanna give that one a wide berth. I've seen what happens to the people who drink that stuff. Not pretty." She let her fingers flutter over her forehead. "You think they do root beer?"

Giles barely heard her. "Cardassian red leaf tea, Terran tea, Vulcan spice tea, Takana root tea. Where's the regular Tea tea?"

An elderly waiter approached their table. "Are you ready to order?"

"Um, yes, … so many teas… Is there the possibility of getting an Earth-based tea?"

"That would be Terran tea – right there." The man said, pointing at the PADD.

"Terran tea? Ah, of course. Terran – Terra Firma – Earth. Yes, I shall have that then; preferably British."

"Okay." He entered the order onto a smaller PADD of his own and looked at Willow.

"Can I get a root beer?"

"Sure. Tea and a root beer. I'll be right back."

The waiter took the larger PADD from them and went to deal with their drinks.

Giles picked up from where he had left off: "As I said on the way here; we don't have enough information to act on at the moment. A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing."

"Surely it's better than not having any information at all?"

"Absolutely not! The details surrounding the First Sorcerers' spell were never fully recorded. Without knowing the nature of the original binding, and why it worked, we could make matters worse by casting one designed for another purpose. Not that we know many spells from memory."

"I've been thinking about that," said Willow, leaning in and lowering her tone ominously, "Maybe I could try contacting the Wiccan Gods themselves. Not the measly little Gods, mind, but the big potato. The Mother Goddess. She has the power to create a spell for us."

"Willow!" Giles' expression became troubled and he too moved forward and whispered, "Accessing the Gods' Earthly power is one thing," he said sternly. "Spells exist to harness that power… but 'To disturb their eternal rest is to incur their wrath'. Let's not be hasty."

She leant back and her voice returned to a normal volume. "So, what do you suggest we do, Giles? Sit here and drink 'bubble juice' 'till the cows come home? People are dying. We have to try _something_. You said yourself that mortal man was no match for its army. Magic could be our only hope."

"Rather than do anything utterly rash and foolhardy, I suggest we get some rest and draw up a list of all possible avenues of action available to us. From that, we can all decide upon the preferred course to take."

The drinks arrived and they both sat quietly, each deep in their own thoughts. When they had finished, they handed the cups in at the bar and left for bed.

Giles went from Ten-Forward hoping he could find a less reckless and less dangerous solution.

Willow left as a determined witch with aspirations above her station.

* * *

Xander carefully rested his empty glass of champagne on the nightstand, rolled back to Anya and held her gently in their bed. He ran his fingers over her now fully healed arm and kissed her naked shoulder.

She was staring off into the stars out the huge and, to Xander, annoying windows.

She let out a small sigh. "You think there could be anyone out there watching us?"

"Maybe," he answered. "If they own a really big pair of binoculars."

"Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think's going to happen?"

"I dunno, Hon. I guess we'll do what we always do – find this thing's weak-spot and make it eat crow."

"What if we can't find a weakness, or there isn't one? Or there is, but we can't do anything about it?"

"We'll figure something out. That's what we do. What's with the big fret, anywho? You're not usually this freaked."

"It's nothing. I just… I wish none of this ever happened…with the box…and the evil…and all the people dying. Which is amusing in a not-very-funny kind of way, seeing as a couple of years ago I wouldn't have had any trouble granting that one. …I just want to go back to _our_ world."

"I know, Baby. We all do. But today someone helped me realise that we kind of have a responsibility here. We've got a Scooby-job to do before we can think about going home."

"Why? It's not our fault this evil genie's all mad and homicidal. _We_ didn't set it loose. What exactly are _we_ going to do? Will you bore it to death with your detailed knowledge of Babylon Five while it sucks out my soul and turns me into a hellish minion?"

"Ah, I see. A curse upon my man-ignorance. This is about what happened this morning… when that thing tried to kill you."

"You weren't there."

"I couldn't have…the others were there. Buffy was–"

"I needed _you_, Xander. I was going to die and I needed you to hold me and tell me we'd get through it and you weren't there."

"And I've always been there before."

"I could really have died. Alone."

"It wasn't that long ago you first realised what it means to be mortal. Which is a big thing to come to terms with. …Now, maybe those fifty or so years you think you have left could end tomorrow. I guess people just take that for granted. We have our whole childhood to prepare for it. But to have the reality of that just dumped on you… I never thought about how hard it must be for you."

He held her, not sure whether he was trying to comfort her or himself.

Squeezing him tightly, Anya said: "It... it's not so bad… when you're not staring it in the face… And when _you're_ with me it doesn't seem so frightening. Just don't leave me again, okay?"

'_But you left me_'…"Okay."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to…"…'_or possibly not_'…"I promise."

And there he held her until the world fell away and sleep crept upon them.

* * *

This was not a spell. She required no locks of hair, eye of newt or tongue of toad. No fancy crystals or objects designed to make an offering or harness power… Or, at least, not that she was aware.

Willow lowered herself to the floor of her room and knelt there, lights dimmed to near blackness. She outlined a symbol around herself with a finger; so her calling would be heard on the other side. The shape she made of a semicircle flanked by a smooth line represented the Creatress in Wiccan theology, standing alone from her consort – the Horned God.

"Mother Goddess; Goddess of the Craft, hear me…

E pluribus unum

Ubicumque stes

Deus…

Deus, verbera, sed audi

Nos raptus regaliter.

Bring your knowledge upon me…"

For the briefest of moments, it seemed that nothing would happen. Then the temperature of the room rose suddenly and the air filled with a kind of static charge that penetrated her body and touched her soul.

A form came into being before her of a female figure. Standing majestic – a gown of radiant white gently drifting about her on a non-existent breeze and an aura that surrounded her like a protective bubble.

As the image became more crisp, it was clear to Willow that this figure was not making contact with the floor. Instead she hovered like an angel about a foot from it.

The face of the Goddess formed, the hair impossibly long and flowing. Her face…

It was Tara.

"Re vera, cara mea, mea nil refert," Willow chanted, bowing down as far as she could, and repeated: "Re vera, cara mea, mea nil refert."

The apparition spoke: 'Whom dares to summon me here?' Though her lips never moved, Tara's voice rang in Willow's mind with a clarity that defied all sound. 'Whom has the audacity to disturb my slumber?'

Willow, somewhat unnerved, put a shaky hand up and squeaked: "…me."

'You dance with the Darkness'

"I…dance? I don't dance."

'Darkness is not my concern'

"But I need your guidance. I…_we_…are lost in a world apart from our own with no means to harness your Craft, or I would not have troubled you, my Goddess." She bowed again.

'The answers you seek rest with another

You are young and naïve

Yet your soul has strength enough to bear Anima

Do not trouble me again or my wrath shall be unyielding' With that, she began to fade away.

"But…"

'DECESSIO!'

'_Oops_'

The Goddess' arms cast forward and a force of burning air rippled forth, lifting Willow off her feet and shoving her against the far bulkhead. She hit the wall hard, smashing a Monet reproduction and fell into a heap on the floor.

'Do not call on me again!' With a dazzling flash, she was gone.

Willow coughed with the shock of being winded so unexpectedly and brought herself up onto her knees. That wasn't quite what she'd hoped for. She wouldn't have minded so much if she had understood anything of what the Goddess had said. But, then again, at least she wasn't really hurt.

'_I guess that wasn't such a good idea after all_'

Willow tried to sleep that night, but the words of the Creatress echoed like distant thunder in her memory.

* * *

'Calmness In The Heart Of Movement Is The Secret Of All Power' is quoted from the motto of the Hsing Chen School.


	9. The Things Of Hell

**- The Things Of Hell -**

_**9**_

The Sovereign-class Enterprise cruised along at warp factor 3 on a direct course for the Sal Fusia System. Lieutenant Commander La Forge had managed to make a degree of warp power available three hours into repairs. Since then, they had been moving steadily to their target, gradually increasing to warp 3. They were five hours out of the Tri Ro'Ku System before the forward phaser arrays and sensors were up and running and shields were almost up to 20 of capacity. The torpedo launching system was still down and sections of decks 3, 7 and 8 were off-limits due to two gaping holes in the skin of the ship, and the subsequent damage to those decks.

It had taken Picard and his crew 7 years to wreck the Enterprise-D. The way they'd been handling _this_ ship since it was commissioned convinced Picard it wouldn't even last 5.

The Captain was doubly eager to get to their destination as soon as possible as the Vasco da Gama had not sent confirmation of their interception of the Klingon ship. It was entirely possible that 'Data' had activated the cloaking device. Another reason to get there quickly.

* * *

"Starfleet are sending the nearest suitable ship to meet us," said Picard to his bridge crew. "It could be midday before we rendezvous."

Riker sighed. "Let's hope we don't get into another dog-fight before back-up arrives."

Picard addressed Troi: "How are the crew holding up, Counsellor?"

"As well as can be expected under the circumstances. I think it would help if they had more of an idea about what they were facing."

"Yes, it would," grumbled Riker.

Troi gave him a look. He was being hostile again. He smiled at her and raised his hands. "I'm sorry. I can't help myself."

"Captain." It was Barnaby at Ops – he was analysing the readings at his station. They were still over an hour from their objective.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"I'm detecting what appears to be the wreckage of a ship, sir; just ahead."

"All-stop, Lieutenant Nevares," Riker asked of the young Hispanic man at the Conn.

The ever-so-faint sensation of movement eased off and the ship came to a halt.

"Helm answering all-stop, Commander," confirmed Nevares.

"On screen," said Picard, leaning forward in his command chair.

The viewer materialised at the front of the bridge to show stars. Among the stars, and just barely visible, were clusters of gleaming particles far off into the distance.

Picard strained his eyes. "Increase magnification."

The particles were clearly tiny shards of a metallic substance.

"I'm picking up traces of duranium and tritanium," said Lt. Barnaby.

The same material used to build Federation starships. Among others.

"The Vasco da Gama?"

"I'm not detecting a transponder signal. But I _am_ detecting a faint subspace resonance signature – possibly from a Federation warp core." He worked the controls some more. "Scanning for frequency variances… checking computer records… It _is_ the Vasco da Gama, sir."

'_Was_' Picard rubbed at the bridge of his nose. '_Damn it_'

"This means Data's got weapons and shields back at full strength," Riker deducted.

"It's not Data, Will," Deanna pointed out to him.

"I know. But we don't even have a name for 'it'. Am I the only one who finds it more than a little frustrating?"

"Certainly not," admitted Picard in an unsettled tone.

"I'm also reading another signature," said Barnaby. "On a course for the Sal Fusia System, sir. It's degrading fast, but it appears to match a Klingon warp field."

Well, that settled any question of where he was heading.

Picard tapped his Comm. "Bridge to engineering. Geordi, how are the injector assemblies coming on?"

"I've done all I can with them, Captain," came his reply. "I think we'll get warp four out of her for a while, but she needs a whole new phase adjustment coil."

"Very well. If you could assign the remaining repairs to your staff, I'd like you on the bridge when we arrive."

"I'll be right up."

Picard leant back in his chair. This situation was dire and disturbing, and it was made all the more so knowing that Data was the instrument with which so much destruction had been caused. Picard hoped beyond hope that he could find his second officer – his friend – and bring him home safely. "Get us back on course, Mr. Nevares – warp four."

"Aye, sir."

"Engage."

* * *

"Young and naïve?" said Giles, pacing at first then sitting down at the breakfast table in his room. "I'll say." He found it beguiling that, even as far from home as they were, his living space had again become the focal point for the group. In the tone of a disappointed parent, he continued to scold Willow: "What you did was extremely… silly. I...I really thought you had more sense about you. You must realise that you are delving into powers far beyond your capabilities." Giles paused a moment, having become suddenly aware that Xander was in rather an urgent need of a shave. He shook off the distraction and continued: "You're very lucky to be in one piece."

The young Wicca wanted to protest, to defend her capabilities, but felt it to be a bad time, seeing as Giles' face had turned a curious shade of aubergine. Which was never good. "Well, if it's any consolation, Mr. Grumpy-pants, she told me not to disturb her again… or else."

"Or else what?" asked Xander. "She'll bowl another King-Kong curry-fart your way?"

"It's no laughing matter," she retorted.

"It certainly is not!" Giles put in. He'd gone all British again.

Xander, Buffy, Anya and especially Willow could tell he was gonna be no fun at all that day.

"So," said Giles, moving on, "what else did she have to say?"

Willow gave him an annoyed look. "Oh, so now you wanna know what she said?"

The group all focused in on him. "Well…we…we may as well garner what information we can from this…incident."

After a moment of deep thought, Willow recounted: "She did make some comment about Japanese cartoons… 'anime'," she said, pulling a 'Whatever-that-was-about' face.

"Anime?" Giles pondered. "Are you certain it was 'anime'? Could she have said 'Ani-_ma_'?"

"Anima? … Yeah. That sounds right. Is that Latin? 'Cos I don't recognise that word."

"Anima refers to the spirit – the soul – of a person. This could be important. Can you be more specific about the context in which she used the word?"

"She said I was 'strong to bear anima', or something. She was kinda vague." She turned to Buffy. "Gods are always awkward that way."

"Mmm, interesting," Giles pondered aloud. '_Strong to bear the spirit_' … '_Strong to bear the soul_'

"Sure; they're superior beings," Buffy said to Willow. "But it's no excuse for acting all high-and-mighty."

Willow nodded. "Oh, and she said something about my room being too dark … that I was 'Dancing in the dark'."

To that, Buffy said: "You sure it wasn't the ghost of Bruce Springsteen?"

That didn't sound right to Xander. "Technically he can't have a ghost if he's still alive, right?"

Buffy shook her head at him. "Not if it's Bruce Springsteen from _this_ universe."

"But how do we know he sang the same songs in this reality?" Anya pointed out.

"Or even that he existed at all," said Buffy.

'_What on Earth are they talking about?_' Giles thought. "Excuse me, people," he interrupted, tapping a finger on the table. "We must concentrate! Finding a way to defeat this evil force is a difficult enough task with no means of researching the topic further, without you lot confusing matters unnecessarily."

Their faces betrayed their thoughts. '_Riiiight_'

"Anyway," said Willow finally. "It wasn't Bruce Springsteen."

"Mr. Giles?" came a woman's voice, as if from nowhere.

Some of them instantly looked to the doorway of his bedroom – expressions of shock already fixed firmly on their faces.

The former Watcher was momentarily confused until he saw Xander indicating to his insignia badge.

'_Of course!_' "Um…Yes?" he answered, tapping his chest.

"We're about to enter the Sal Fusia System, and the captain has requested your presence on the bridge."

"Err…On my way." He gave the group a shrug and made his way out.

Although they had not been invited, the gang followed him.

* * *

It was fair to say that the Bridge was heaving when the Enterprise dropped out of warp and glided into the Sal Fusia System.

Worf and Martok were peering over the shoulders of the officer at tactical, and the Sunnydale group – now including Spike – hung around behind Troi's chair. The doctor was also present, leaning against a small station near the turbolift.

* * *

The Sal Fusia 6 science station had a central dome, or semi-sphere, surrounded by a protective scaffold-like ring from which two 'arms' of differing lengths reached out at odd angles. Each antennae 'arm' was finished off with specialist sensor clusters and, at the apex of the dome, sat a small group of science labs that resembled 20th century city skyscrapers.

The Enterprise slipped into synchronous orbit alongside the science station and began running a scan.

* * *

"I'm only reading one life-sign; very faint," La Forge reported at the operations console.

"Are there any other ships in the vicinity, Geordi?" asked Picard.

"None that I'm detecting."

"Any tachyon traces of a cloaked ship?" said Riker.

"No. Looks like the coast's clear."

Picard nodded thoughtfully, as he often did when making quick decisions. "Lower shields and beam the casualty directly to sickbay."

Daniels was about to comply…

"Wait," called Crusher. "This isn't an emergency-transport situation, Captain. I have to stabilise the patient before beaming them aboard."

'_Blasted regulations_' "Alright," Picard agreed. "We can take this opportunity to assess the situation over there."

Anticipating his orders, Security Chief Daniels approached Picard from tactical.

The Captain stood. "Lieutenant Daniels – take a security attachment and escort Doctor Crusher to the station."

"CAPTAIN!"

Picard turned to see Martok approach him in a determined manner.

"Captain Picard, circumstances have personally involved my delegation in these unfortunate events. With all due respect, I insist on having a Klingon presence on the away-team."

"Agreed, Chancellor."

"I will take Worf with me."

"I'm sorry? …I will allow you to send two of your men, Chancellor, but I have no intention of sending the leader of the Klingon people into a potentially hazardous situation."

"I have authority here–"

"As Captain of this ship I will not allow it."

"_I_ will go," offered Worf. "I shall take Gor'agh with me."

Unsatisfied, yet powerless to argue, Martok agreed. "So be it."

"Again, Ambassador," Picard said to Worf, "I cannot allow–"

"I insist," Martok said firmly. "I have made one compromise. I do not wish to make another. As leader of the Klingon people, I give Worf my personal commission to attend."

The Captain sighed heavily and said: "As you wish, Chancellor." He then gave Worf and Daniels the same task. "Find out what happened on that station, gentlemen."

"I hope you've got room for one more," said Buffy.

Riker almost laughed. "You must be joking! Captain–"

Giles cut in: "Captain Picard, Buffy _is_ the Slayer. If there's any kind of demonic activity, you may well need her there. She is the one person most equipped to deal with it."

Something told Picard he should bend the rules a little and allow this infringement. However, he didn't want to alienate his first officer, who clearly was not about to breach any regulations to let a civilian girl on an away mission.

Riker noted that his Captain was looking to him for an opinion. He also saw that Deanna was giving him the evil eye again. They _were_ involved … and she _was_ their chosen representative…

So he found himself nodding agreeably. "Just stay close to Daniels and his men. And don't get in the way." He then turned to glare at the Counsellor as if to mean: 'There; are you satisfied?'

She smiled back at him warmly: 'I suppose so'.

* * *

"Anyway," Buffy asked of Worf as they made their way to the transporter room. "How come when we first…met, we couldn't understand you? Then, in sickbay, you were talking all… English?"

Worf replied to the annoying little girl's query with irritation: "When combined with a ships' computer, the communicators worn by Starfleet personnel act as a universal translator."

'_Mmm_' "So…whatever language you speak, it all gets turned into English?"

"No."

"That it? Just 'No'? You're not gonna tell me why?"

Couldn't she just leave him in peace? Worf answered impatiently: "If there were three individuals. One only speaks and understands Klingon, one Cardassian and one…Vulcan. A universal translator will allow all three to communicate with any one of the others. That is why it is 'universal'."

"Oh," said Buffy. "Nifty."

* * *

Buffy waited outside the main transporter room for Daniels and his team. Though part of her just didn't want to hang around in there with the Klingons. Worf's equally ass-faced friend had already been waiting for him when they arrived.

"I'm coming with," said Xander, emerging from a side corridor followed by Spike. "You might need some Scooby back-up. Just in case anything over there decides to get ugly. And these security guys don't come across as being all that slick."

"You sure you wanna _beam_ there?"

"_Beam_?" His face fell in dread and he replied sarcastically: "On second thoughts…I promised Anya she could wax my chest!"

"Thanks anyway, but I'd feel better if I didn't have to worry about anyone else."

Xander lowered his gaze. "Right." It was for the best, really. If he had gone off risking his life, Anya would have killed him.

"I'll watch your back." It was out before Spike even realised he was gonna speak. '_Quick – an excuse_'… "I'm gettin' bored sittin' 'round here, twiddlin' m'thumbs. Change of scenery's just what I need to take my mind off… the… intense craving I've got for a cig!" '_There_'. They'd buy that. He wasn't really sure why he wanted to go along. Apart from the strange desire he felt to look out for the Slayer, there was something else. Something drawing him to the station. Anyway, he really _was_ bored hanging around the ship.

* * *

Daniels soon appeared with three gun-toting security officers and they all moved into the transporter room.

"Here." Daniels tried to hand Buffy a rifle.

When she declined it, he smiled at her as if to a child. "There's no need to be afraid of it. It's set to stun only. I'll show you how to use it."

"I'm not really one for guns." She caught sight of the bat'leth strapped to Worf's back. "Don't suppose I could get one of those?"

Worf, insulted, grunted loudly. "This is the sacred weapon of a Klingon warrior!" he growled.

"So that's a big 'No', then?"

"You can have _this_," Worf said, handing her his small d'k tagh knife with a wry grin. His companion laughed.

She flicked the switch on the knife and two smaller side-blades snapped out. "It'll do."

To Worf's surprise, she slipped the knife in her waistband and stepped onto the transporter platform. She was serious! Or she was insane.

When the doc arrived with a medical field kit, Spike, Worf and Gor'agh followed her onto the pad with Daniels and his men.

Warren handed Buffy and Spike a Comm badge to make a transporter-lock easier. The Klingons were already wearing their own arm-mounted communicators. Spike flat-out refused to wear the thing, claiming it might interfere with the chip in his head and melt his 'brain'.

"Besides, you can't miss me. I'm the corpse, remember?" he pointed out.

And so, they all stood there on the platform and prepared for the unknown…

* * *

They materialised to find themselves in the central rotunda, only partially illuminated by dim emergency lighting. And the image that greeted them sent an arctic chill through their bones.

Fist-sized clots of torn and ravaged flesh hung from the crossbeams, pasted the walls, and littered the floor. There were even skulls amongst the butchery – or remnants of heads, if you will, as they appeared to still have some flaps of skin and the underlying muscle attached.

Blood painted the scene, causing Buffy to feel like Alice in a nightmare of Wonderland. Someone had really gone all-out to paint the town red. She could not recall ever seeing anything quite as horrific in all her time as a Slayer. The remains were already starting to decay and the air had begun to turn foul with the smell of it.

BLOOD

Dark Flowing Cascading Surrounding Filling Drowning Red Danger DEATH!

The lumpy masses looked to Buffy like… "And their hearts swam in rivers of blood," she whispered to no one in particular.

"What's that?" asked Daniels on hearing her.

"Oh… nothing. Just something I read." She cocked an ear. "What's making that humming noise?"

Daniels listened hard. "Sounds like the torque sensors are out of alignment. Nothing to worry about." He made a mental note – the girl had the ears of a Vulcan.

The room itself was circular, domed, with tiers of seats surrounding the central arena they stood in – like an amphitheatre, and with two levels. On either side of them, simple metal stairs led up to a narrow gangway that ran around the room, edged by a railing. A large screen in the centre of the upper floor angled downward to face the arena. It looked like they were in a meeting place. A forum. It reminded Buffy of a lecture hall from college.

'_Damn!_' she thought, grimacing. She realised she had homework to do if – when – she got home.

Worf saw this and took it to mean she was grimacing at the carnage surrounding them. "I have seen far worse sights than this in battle," he told her. "The Battle of Tong Vey was a fierce one in the history of my people. I have a holodeck program of it that I visit regularly." He paused, savouring the thought. "Many warriors were disembowelled and left for days to die from their wounds."

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him. '_Exaggerating much?_' she thought. What she said was: "Well, thanks for taking our minds off the death and slaughter by telling us about all that…death and slaughter." She heard him growl at her deeply.

Picard's voice cut through the frightfulness of the scene: "Enterprise to Daniels. Report."

The blond-haired man struggled to find his voice. "…I…It's horrible. I…can't describe it, sir."

Worf studied the upper level and saw what he was looking for. "Captain. I will attempt to activate the conference screen," he said, already making his way up a set of stairs and onto the second level walkway. His feet left deep imprints in the thick carpet of blood.

* * *

"This's weird," La Forge said from the front of the bridge. "There were four type-six shuttles and three runabouts assigned to this station. …They're all missing!"

Picard frowned heavily, as did Riker who repeated: "Missing?" Not everyone on that station would fit in those shuttles. So where were they? Data certainly couldn't fly them _all_, and a tractor beam would be far too weak. Unless they all went through the 'wormhole'. "Maybe he just wanted to go home," offered the Commander.

Xander took this chance to put him down a peg. "You're really not following any of this, are you?"

Riker pierced him with a glare.

"Besides, Number One," said the Captain. "Why would he take all the shuttles?"

Martok, having taken it upon himself to man the tactical post, spoke up: "The image-feed from the station is available, Captain."

"Put it on screen, Chancellor."

The view appeared suddenly of Worf's body in the dullness – his head off-screen. He stepped aside to reveal a wide, angled view looking down on the first level of the rotunda. The image was badly lit, but after a moment of adjustment, the true nature of the situation became apparent. The mood on the bridge turned grim.

* * *

Dr. Crusher had seen some terrible things during her time as a CMO – some of them had been within the last 12 hours – but this… It was beginning to turn even _her_ stomach. She quickly regained her composure, unholstered her medical tricorder and began a bio-scan.

Daniels and Gor'agh remained by her side as the other two security officers and Ambassador Worf secured the area.

Buffy noted that the Klingons had not yet seen fit to draw their weapons. Whereas the guards – one Human with dusky brown hair and a thin goatee, and one Human_ish_, but with elf-like pointed ears and a fixed quizzical expression on his face – both held large and unusual rifles. As did Daniels.

"This way," Crusher said, indicating a corridor that led out of the rotunda. "We'd better hurry. The life-sign is fading." She started to lead the way out, but Daniels made it his duty to keep a step or two ahead of her.

Worf appeared in front of Buffy and signalled her to follow. She saw no reason not to comply, so she did as he wished. After all, she was on _their_turf. Though that never usually stopped her.

Buffy followed the doc, the Klingons falling into step behind her with the other two Starfleets' covering the rear.

* * *

On the bridge of the Enterprise, they watched as the away-team disappeared from view.

* * *

The corridor was somewhat larger than that of the Enterprise and more octagonal than square. Piping, conduits and cables ran the length of it along the ceiling, and it appeared to have seen less trauma than the forum in the rotunda, as it was less bloody.

They moved cautiously along, the passage growing darker and darker still.

"The emergency lighting must have failed in this section," Daniels said.

The three security officers activated small torches at the head of their weapons and the passage before them was lit with an eerie mix of light and shadow. As they walked, trying to hurry without rushing foolishly on, the shadows danced ahead of them in the torch-beams; beckoning them into their lair. It seemed as though, at any moment, something might jump out at them unexpectedly.

Passing beneath an overhead hatch built into the ceiling, Daniels seemed to sense Buffy and Spike's thoughts. "Access to the next deck," he said dismissively, concentrating his torchlight on it for a moment. It was locked from the deck above.

They continued on through the murky darkness, the doctor updating them that they were drawing closer to her patient. The group struggled to see what was outside the streams of the rifle-light, but Spike could easily see beyond it. Darkness was his home and he felt like he really had come home. He'd spent far too long in the light. The vampire saw before them what the others could not. "Mind your step there," he advised.

Daniels, leading, stopped and dropped the end of his phaser rifle downward. A small flight of steps – maybe four or five of them – led down to a slightly lower level corridor that looked to end with a half-open double-door.

"Just twenty metres ahead," Crusher informed them.

"Okay," said the Security Chief, addressing his men and the Klingons. "When we get in; secure the area. Pattern delta."

As a former Federation security chief, Worf understood. He quickly barked a command to his fellow Klingon and Gor'agh nodded.

When Daniels saw they were ready, he moved down and made for the room ahead.

Only a single wall panel in the room was lit, and it flickered randomly on and off. Considering the time it would take the eyes to adjust to its light, it offered little illumination.

The guards and the warriors stood in their secured positions, those with rifles playing their light over the room. Buffy, Spike, Daniels and the doc looked in from the doorway.

Buffy saw that, in the torch beams, there were computer panels and controls along the walls, and the room seemed to be hexagonal, or a pentagon, and roughly half the size of the one they had arrived in. There was still food half-eaten on the worktops, a few cups and such lying wasted on the deck. She remembered the film 'Aliens' and it sent a shiver through her.

"This's like something out of 'Aliens'," said Spike, almost like he read her mind. But she could see that he was as nervous here as her.

And he could see that she believed he was.

The sudden thought of ravaging her skipped through his mind. '_No_', a voice said to him from within, '_Not yet. Not quite yet. They have to see it first_…'

Crusher glanced up from her tricorder and pointed. "Over there; at the far side of the room."

Worf put a hand over his shoulder and let it rest on the bat'leth he carried against his back.

The three shafts of torchlight skipped across the scene, each passing over a large master systems display table at the centre of the room, and coming together to rest against the far wall. And, for a moment, all but one of them felt their heart stop.

A girl.

She couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 – hanging limp. Clothes ragged, her skin bruised and ripped all over. A tritanium-coated cable protruding from the rafters was bent out of shape, piercing through her cheeks. It held her there over the floor, stretching the flesh around her mouth unnaturally as her weight pulled her downwards.

"My God! Get her down!" Crusher pleaded desperately.

Worf rushed in to take the girl's weight as Daniels grabbed a nearby anti-grav chair, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He slid the chair next to her.

"Try to do as little damage as you can!" Crusher ordered as the security chief got up onto the chair.

Daniels' heart was racing. This was unbelievable. He'd never known anything like it. Not even from the Breen. A quick test of the rigid cable told him he wouldn't be able to remove it without shredding the poor girl's face apart. He did the only thing he could; taking hold of the back of her head where it met her neck, he slid her gently off the cable while using his other hand to ensure her mouth followed. When she was clear, Worf let her drop into his arms and rested her unconscious body carefully on the display table as Dr. Crusher ordered.

Stepping in from the entrance, Buffy had a hand over her mouth. She tried with all her heart to repress the horror she felt, but it was her heart that caused her to imagine what this defenceless girl must have gone through. Worse still, in some part of her, she couldn't help but be reminded of Dawn.

The doctor ran her probe over the child's battered form as Buffy came over and brushed some of the girl's long brown hair away from her tortured face. "How is she?" As soon as she said it, it sounded like the stupidest question she'd ever heard.

"She's swallowed some blood. There's sign of head trauma. Broken limbs. Internal bleeding. She's in hypovolemic shock." The doc, without hesitation, slung her carry-case onto the table and snapped it open, struggling to find what she needed in the dark, "I need some more light here!" she demanded urgently. "And clear her airway!" she said to Buffy.

The Slayer made a move to do something then stopped. "H...how?"

"Turn her on her side. Use your fingers if you have to." Crusher loaded a hypo and gave the girl a shot of epinephrine to increase her cardiac output before diving back into the field kit.

Buffy let her fingers slide down the girl's small throat, pulling out blood and whatever else was in there. God, this was unreal.

The doctor's mind was racing with procedures and diagnosis. She knew she had to control the internal bleeding, knew she'd need to arrange blood replacement back in sickbay, knew then that she'd have to tackle the head injuries. But a passage from her Starfleet medical 'Bible' rang in her mind: 'In cases of hypovolemic or cardiogenic shock, death is likely even with immediate medical attention.' But there was always a possibility. Always.

The girl's body had begun to tremble and sweat profusely, yet Buffy noted her skin was cold to touch as she stroked her hair and face reassuringly. She watched the doctor attach a small device to the patient's stomach area and begin to interface her foldaway hand-sensor with it.

Crusher's tricorder told her that the bleeding was already under control and that her internal organs were now starting to receive vital blood supply. And the drug was helping; her vitals were slowly stabilising. "Give her a second, and we should be able to transport her."

Buffy stroked the girl's face gently. '_Poor, poor kid_'

Then, suddenly, she coughed, and her eyes opened wearily.

This surprised Buffy and, on seeing her stood there, the girl tried to speak: "Please–" She coughed. "Hel–" This time when she coughed, a small discharge of blood came with it. "Help me…" Her words slurred with the distortion of her mouth.

"It's alright," Buffy assured her. "You're going to be alright. There's a doctor here and she's gonna fix you up good as new. I promise."

Spike was watching. Smiling. This was fun. To see their reaction. It made the effort worthwhile. Christ! Spike wanted to laugh at them – at how easily they could be led. His smile quickly hid behind shock when Buffy turned to check on him. She had no idea. When the Slayer turned her attention away from him again, he quickly took a strange futuristic wrench that sat on a worktop – one he'd been eyeing since entering the room – and hid it up his sleeve unnoticed.

"My name's Buffy. Stupid name, huh?"

The girl, eyes fluttering, seemed to try to smile.

"What's yours?"

She didn't answer. Instead, her eyes just fluttered once more … then closed.

The tricorder sounded. There wasn't enough blood-flow to the brain. It was shutting down!

Dr. Crusher quickly pulled a cortical stimulator from her kit, laid her patient onto her back again and placed the device on the girl's forehead. She tried a few times to shock the brain, but to no avail.

Buffy stepped back in an attempt to distance herself from what she was watching, her mouth open, eyes filling with tears. The horror. '_But…I promised…_'

"I'm losing her!" Crusher warned, still trying to revive her.

And trying…

And trying…

And stopped.

She was gone.

"Too much trauma…" said the doctor, as if to justify or explain her failure to get her back. She really couldn't have done anything.

Buffy could barely breathe. '_…I promised…_' She turned away and wiped away tears from her face. She didn't like any of this.

* * *

"I don't like this," confessed Riker, watching the empty rotunda on the viewer. "Something's not right. A hundred-strong crew and only one survivor?"

"Yes," Picard agreed. "It is rather…dubious. Still; we must investigate."

"That's what bothers me."

* * *

"Something bothering you?" Daniels asked of Buffy as she looked about them.

"This's all wrong," she said, taking the end of his phaser and guiding the light around the room. They were cornered. Small room, no windows, no doors. No way in or out other than the way they came. And with the mess of this place…why only one survivor?'

'_Ex-survivor_'

Even the ventilation ducts were too small for a person to fit in.

Clawing Crawling Gnawing Choking…

"It's a trap," she said pointedly.

Then the trouble started.

* * *

Spike had been watching the Slayer closely. Darkness had an interest in her. My, how tasty she looked. And how nice it would be… to bathe in her blood and to feel great mouthfuls of her flesh sliding down his throat… '_Aw, sick_' … '_Wait…no. Not sick_' In fact…it sounded… delicious.

She was looking around. Her mind undoubtedly racing – trying to find a way out. Yes, he knew her well. Knew how her mind worked. Wondered what it would look like in his hands. He let the wrench drop into his palm, and his grip on it tightened. With her back to him, the Slayer said something: "It's a trap."

It was time to make his move.

* * *

Unknown to them – in the passageway – the access hatch to the upper deck … opened.

* * *

"In the name of Darkness, DIE, SLAYER!" Spike screamed.

Buffy spun to see the wrench come to within inches of her face and, before she had time to react, Spike withdrew suddenly; screaming out in agony, dropping the weapon and clutching at his head. "BLOODY, SODDIN' 'ELL!" he cried. "Change of plan ya hypnotic arsehole! I'm nobody's soddin' lap-dog, d'ya hear? I'M the Big Bad here, Mister!"

Worf walked over to Buffy, regarding the vampire with new-found distrust. "What is wrong with him?"

Daniels joined them. "Who's he talking to?"

"Spike!" she shouted, getting his attention. "You wanna explain to me why you just tried to cave my head in? Or should I just save us some time and dust you?"

She was not in a good mood by any means, and Spike quickly came to his own defence: "It wasn't my fault. Honest. Something was makin' me do it. In my head. Lieutenant Commander 'I'll-be-back', I reckon," he said, using his best Arnie voice, then continued: "He's got the power to command evil… things. Things without a soul. Didn't figure on me havin' a nasty little chip in m' skull, though, did he?… DID YOU!" he yelled to the heavens.

"But you're alright now?" she asked.

"Yeah. Under control. It's either that or a head-splittin' migraine. I'll take my chances stickin' twos up at His Evilness." Which he did. Very enthusiastically. Spike didn't say, but the pain of not giving in to the will of Evil was almost as intense as the pain in his head. Still, he found it within himself to resist.

"What was that?" Gor'agh asked suddenly.

They all looked up. They'd heard it too. It had sounded like a muffled scratching.

The Vulcan – Tokk – used his keen ears to pinpoint the source of the sound and brought his light to bear on it.

Klingons feared nothing and, as the closer of the two, Gor'agh stepped into the light to investigate.

It looked like a Federation pet-carrier, so the warrior undid the latch and swung the small flap open. Nothing happened at first. Then, tentatively, a tiny puppy – possibly a Labrador – crept into view, then stumbled out. There was dried blood matted into its fur.

Gor'agh lifted it by the scruff of its neck and examined it.

Tokk followed his movements with the torchlight as the away-team watched.

It seemed that one of its eyes had been gouged out and there was even blood in its mouth. The tall, heavily muscled Klingon looked over to the doctor. "I should end this animal's suffering."

After a quick glance at the faces of the people around her, Crusher nodded to the warrior.

Gor'agh reached up to hold the pup's body while he snapped its neck. It would be quick.

A second before he did the deed, the doctor spoke: "I'm not reading any life-sign from it," she said, directing her tricorder toward the infant dog.

The instant Gor'agh looked over at Crusher, it struck. The animal turned and bit down on the flesh between his thumb and index finger. With an instinctive cry, the Klingon tore his hand free, sending a small spray of blood through the air. The pup minded none, as it dug its sharp claws into his face and sank its teeth deep into his rippled forehead.

Gor'agh roared and ripped it away from him – tearing tissue from his face. Pulling his d'k tagh knife from his belt, he impaled the mutt through its chest and pinned it on the wall.

Stuck there, nearly 6 feet from the ground – blade through its heart – it writhed and growled.

"I hate Terran pets!" he said as the doctor checked him over and gave him a combination anti-viral/painkiller hypospray.

"What is happening here?" he said to Crusher.

"I–" A figure appeared suddenly behind Gor'agh and Crusher fell back in surprise.

The Klingon cried out again as something grabbed him from behind, wrapping its withered arms around him and plunging its mouth into his neck savagely.

It looked like a man. Yet not. Skin rotting. Flesh bleeding, ruptured and lacerated. Hair thinning. Tendons showing… Nauseous. Repulsive. Sickening… Putrid.

Everyone took a step back as Gor'agh slammed his back against the wall, cracking something inside the body of the thing. But it didn't flinch. Wrapped tightly around him, it began to shake its head with such ferocity that the meat of his neck started to rip away.

"I WILL TEAR YOUR STILL-BEATING HEART FROM YOUR CHEST WITH MY BARE HANDS!" Gor'agh yelled as he took hold of the slimy hair of the creatures head and flung it over his shoulder, leaving him holding a fistful of hair and scalp.

It hit the deck, skidded onto its knees, clambered to its feet and came back at him…

…Until the Slayer came from the shadows and cut into it with a side-kick that slammed the thing against a workstation. Before it recovered, she went to punch its face, only to have her fist caught by a perished claw. The abomination dug its sharp talons into her wrist and moved in to bite her face; grabbing at her throat.

With her one free arm, her Slayer-strength barely kept its hideous teeth at bay. It was like a monster possessed.

Gnawing Choking

"Fforr Darrknessss," it hissed at her, spittle from its gnarled and twisted mouth landing on her face.

"I _really_ have to draw the line at spitting," she said, landing a hard head-butt into its partial nose, smashing whatever support was behind it, and taking out most of the thing's teeth in the process. She brought a leg up and rammed it into the creature's bony chest, sending it reeling back into the work terminal.

Tokk fired a blast from his phaser, catching it in the midriff, yet it still came forth. Reaching for them.

"Set phasers to kill," Daniels commanded.

"They're already dead!" yelled Buffy.

He tried anyway – in vain – before resetting his rifle again and firing. This time, when the phaser-pulse impacted, the zombie disappeared in a cloud of vapour.

There was a long silence.

Buffy ended it by taking Daniels' gun, pointing it at the display table and vaporising the dead girl's body before throwing it back to him.

"At least they're still made of normal matter," said Crusher, in mild relief.

"They're just dead people," stated the Slayer, too pumped to feel anything other than hate and disgust at that point.

Almost as if it had only just occurred to her, Crusher pressed her Comm. "Crusher to Enterprise."

Nothing.

"Daniels to Enterprise!"

Still nothing.

Crusher quickly accessed the non-medical functions of her tricorder. "There's a dampening field around this room. We have to go back."

That was when Buffy noticed a faint whiff of something creep up on her. She sniffed. '_Ew, foul_' She sniffed again. Then her Slayer-sense kicked in. '_Oh, hell!_'

She turned to the entrance…

A single panel flickered…

…4 of them… 9…

Flickered again…

…More…

And again…

…15… 20… More…

In the light of his rifle, Daniels could see that Buffy was agitated. "What's wrong?" When she didn't acknowledge him he stepped closer to her, as if his proximity to her would make him more noticeable. "Miss Summers?"

Crusher became worried when she didn't respond again. "Buffy?"

"We've got company," she said at last.

Daniels looked at the doctor, who checked her tricorder and shook her head at him. He was beginning to realise there was more to this Summers girl than meets the eye. So, against his better judgement, the security chief slowly turned his rifle away from Buffy and aimed it towards the doorway. And the shaft of light from it followed.

Bloodthirsty, rotten, festering corpses – too many to count – blocked the exit. Men, women, children, animals. Zombies. Flesh dissolving. Some with hollow cavities where eyes once were. Some missing jaws or arms. Some were Starfleet – even the uniforms were perished, ripped, stained with blood. Ravaged half-eaten monsters.

"They're not human," Buffy assured them.

Technically, most of them were Sal Fusian.

"They're not anything," Crusher confirmed, snapping the tricorder shut and holstering it. She fought back her fear. "We have to get back to the conference centre."

The security officers copied Daniels and aimed their rifles at the closest ones as their chief said: "_We'll_ take them down."

"You can't zap 'em all," Buffy pointed out. No. They'd have to go through them.

Daniels was beginning to sweat. "There's nearly fifty metres of corridor to get past. And we have no idea how many of them there are."

Buffy and Worf shared a look. They each knew what they must do.

Gor'agh drew his mek'leth – a short, curved, 'h'-shaped sword with a sharp edge, favoured by many Klingon warriors – and said passionately: "I DO NOT THINK TODAY IS A GOOD DAY TO DIE."

Work agreed completely, readying his bat'leth.

Spike recovered the wrench and held it like a bat. "Just like being back on the field."

The doctor pulled her hand-phaser and set it to the minimum disruptor level as Buffy gave the small d'k tagh knife a thoughtful glance. It really would have to do.

And the creatures just stared; waiting for them to make a futile effort to escape; drawing out their fear.

"We need a diversion," whispered the Slayer. "Something to distract them so we can get past."

"We can…" The doctor began quietly, suppressing the urge to keep her knowledge to herself. "We can set my phaser to overload. It would give us an advantage."

"Is that like a bomb?" Buffy asked.

"Yes," Crusher answered. "But I'd be defenceless."

"Don't worry. I'll watch your back," said Buffy.

Daniels looked down on her. "Who's going to watch yours?" He took the hand-phaser and initiated a discharge loop in the pre-fire chamber. Crusher monitored the overload with her tricorder. When the energy levels had almost exceeded the structural limit of the pre-fire chamber, she gave him a nod.

Daniels tossed the phaser – just behind the front row of monsters – and guided the group in backing away.

A second of panic hit when the bomb didn't detonate immediately.

Then: (((BOOM)))

The front row blew away in pieces – bits of people and things flew in all directions. Without hesitation, the away-team advanced.

Worf was the first to move, swinging his sword elegantly, taking off heads; the bodies falling to the deck, but still clawing.

Clawing Crawling

A full-grown canine ran forward. Gor'agh, hurt and bleeding, lunged past it, cutting through its neck on the way, and brought his mek'leth up in an uppercut. It dug into the groin of one of the more decayed zombies and he was surprised, given their strength, at how easily he let his blade slit it from gut to gullet. It fell away from him in two equal parts and he moved on to the next. He'd almost forgotten how good it felt to be in battle.

Buffy guided the doc into the swarm, kicking and pushing the creatures aside to cover as much ground as she could as quickly as she could. Soon they were surrounded, and Buffy began to use the knife to pave a way for them. She was vaguely aware of the creatures vaporising around her – disintegrating under the weapon-fire of the Starfleet officers. And the path ahead was made easier by the Klingons who ploughed viscously through the crowd. In the erratic rifle-light, she could see that the beasts filled the length of the visible corridor. There were masses of the creatures.

Tokk and his partner 'Shaw' – The bearded officer – were starting to run out of room to fire off the phasers, so they began using them as clubs against the Hell-spawn. But there were simply too many of them and Shaw was not as powerful as the Vulcan. He soon found himself tackling a particularly determined one of the monstrosities. It held onto his rifle with both hands, as did he, and they stayed like that for what seemed, to Shaw, to be forever. But forever proved to be too long…

Terror gripped him as two more of them came from behind and reached for his arms. In desperation, he let go of the gun and tried to push his attackers away – without success as two sets of rotten jaws latched onto his upper arms. Shaw, legs frozen in fear, could only watch as the one holding his weapon dropped it and looked up at him with its one good eye, licking its lips. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could. Maybe he would wake up from this.

'_God, please let me wake up from this…_'

It leapt on him, digging its claws into his body and its teeth deep into his throat; pushing him to the floor where more of them followed, scavenging from him.

As the pain fell away to nothing, the last thing Stewart Shaw knew was the smell of death.

* * *

Worf was almost clear of the 'zombie' crowd, when a garbled cry from Shaw made him turn just in time to see the man disappear under a frenzied mass of the freaks. Torchlight bounced madly around the tunnel and Worf saw that Daniels, Tokk and the injured Gor'agh were separated, each having trouble, and the small girl was nowhere to be seen. He had to go back for them.

* * *

Buffy was beginning to realise she was in trouble. The small knife just wasn't big enough to do any real damage to these things and it was getting harder to keep them away from the doctor. They were cornered.

* * *

Daniels brought his rifle up with both hands and rammed the butt into the nearest face. He tried to pull back for another go, but there just wasn't the room. He'd never felt so claustrophobic. In sheer desperation, he held his gun as it was designed for, and dropped onto his back – right at their feet – and fired frantically again and again; blowing off as many zombie heads as he could manage.

* * *

Buffy remembered the hatchway. Knowing that the chance of it being right over them was slim, she looked up anyway. She was right – it wasn't there. But there were pipes. Big pipes. High up. "Hey, Doc! Can you get up there?"

Crusher tried. "It's too high!"

'_Okay,_' Buffy thought, '_Here goes nothing…_' She did the best spin kick she could manage in a tight space, knocking the creatures back long enough for her to turn and give the doctor a boost.

Crusher pulled her entire body up to the biggest pipe, wrapping her legs and arms tight around it, while Buffy picked the knife back up and stabbed it between the nearest set of eyes.

* * *

Worf doubled-back, cutting the enemy down with his Klingon sword. Though, when he saw Doctor Crusher taking refuge on the ceiling, it became clear he might not get to them in time.

He saw Crusher hanging from a pipe. Holding her body tight up to…a pipe. A pipe! A fuel pipe!

Sal Fusians believed in not hiding the things that made their technology work! And the fuel they use to power the thrusters turns to a gas when oxidised! He also knew that those pipes could withstand tremendous heat pressure and that, without power, this pipe was cut off from the main fuel supply! A plan! Now all he needed was a phaser.

* * *

Gor'agh had seen Shaw fall, and when he managed to shake off the beast that gnawed at his leg, he grabbed one by the throat and flung it with all his might into the crowd – clearing a path to Shaw. It was too late. Shaw was gone. Almost entirely. But, when the Klingon saw the body move, he thought again. '_Tough Human!_' He picked the man up, between kicking and punching zombies away. The warrior realised his error, however, when Shaw suddenly latched onto him, gripping the bottom of Gor'agh's face in his mouth. The warrior roared for the umpteenth time since beaming aboard. He was getting tired of being every freak's free lunch.

He lost all patience and snapped, cutting upward suddenly. His mek'leth severed Shaw's head from his body which fell away in a torrent of fresh blood. With Shaw's head still hanging from his bleeding face, the Klingon lashed out in all directions, severing, ripping, cutting and slashing feverishly. And the things of hell fell at his feet. Pulling the head off his face and slamming it to the ground, he roared his final roar. One not of pain, but of warning and victory. He was prepared to take NO more! Then something bumped into his back. He spun, grabbed, and rammed it against the bulkhead.

Spike yelped and brought his wrench up in defence.

They both eyed each other briefly, realising their joint mistake.

"Where's the Slayer?" Spike asked. "Where's Buffy?"

The tall warrior looked above the crowd, smacked a mighty fist into one of the creatures that got too close, and said to Spike: "SHE IS BENEATH THE DOCTOR!"

Spike looked up and saw what he meant.

"I MUST ASSIST LIEUTENANT DANIELS!"

With that, they separated – Spike heading for the Slayer, Gor'agh for the security chief. Until the Klingon heard a familiar voice calling him from further down the corridor where it was black. Worf. He was calling for a phaser.

* * *

Ambassador Worf heard something creeping up on him. He came about and cut it in half with his bat'leth. But, when he turned back, he was blinded by a light.

"AMBASSADOR!"

It was Gor'agh! With a rifle! Worf sheathed his sword on his back and caught the weapon his fellow Klingon had thrown to him. It was time to pray for luck.

He reset the rifle and aimed carefully, trying to judge the correct angle so as not to block the corridor entirely, and pulled the trigger.

The phaser pulse hit the fuel pipe halfway between him and the others, punching a small hole in it, spewing forth a great jet of fire as the now gaseous fuel from the pipe ignited and burned away. There wasn't much time.

* * *

Crusher saw the fire and realised the pipe she held onto was suddenly becoming very hot. She let go instinctively and fell, landing hard on top of Spike.

* * *

The flame grew in intensity, filling the width of the corridor, taking out a whole bunch of the zombies. Worf cursed himself. The others were trapped. He had to get them through before the fire went out – while the creatures were backing away from it.

* * *

All the beastly monsters stopped their attack and moved away from the fire, apparently afraid of it. But there was nothing the away-team could do. They were stuck.

* * *

Worf blew the huge hatch door off its hinges and moved aside as it fell to the floor. He removed the armour from one of his sleeves and tore himself two shreds of cloth from it. Wrapping them around his hands, he took hold of the handles on the face of the hatch and lifted it above his head. This had to be one of the craziest damn things he'd ever tried.

* * *

"LOOK!" said Gor'agh, pointing.

They watched as the flame moved to one side, skipping over the hatch that Worf used to manoeuvre a passage for them.

"Let's go!" Buffy shouted.

* * *

Worf held the fire back as Gor'agh, Buffy, Crusher, Spike, Tokk and Daniels slipped through the gap. When they were all through, Worf stepped back and threw the smoking hatch door to the ground. He removed the bandages from his hands to see they were a little scolded. Not to worry. Not yet. "WHERE IS THE OTHER–?" he began to ask.

"HE IS GONE!" Gor'agh answered wearily. He looked weak, and he was bleeding badly all over. His uniform was almost invisible beneath it.

Crusher went over to him. "I'm sorry. I lost my field kit!" She looked at Worf.

He knew what she was thinking. They had to get Gor'agh to sickbay quickly.

"IT IS OF NO CONCERN!" The wounded Klingon said bravely. "THE BATTLE IS NOT YET OVER!"

He was right.

Worf handed Crusher the phaser rifle and brought his bat'leth out again. "WE MUST GO NOW, BEFORE THE FIRE DIES!"

Right at that moment, the fire died. For an insane second they all just stood and looked at where the flame had been, willing it to come back. Then the creatures stirred.

Buffy grabbed the doc's arm. "Run!"

And they ran. At full-pelt they ran through the corridor, hoping to make the rotunda before the beasts could act. But that was not to be.

At the rear, Tokk turned to see them moving in. Reaching out in that strange way they had. So he ran faster. But, as he looked forward, he felt something suddenly take his feet from beneath him and, before he had time to think, he landed face-first on the deck with a thud, sending his weapon skidding across the floor.

The others – farther ahead – turned to see what had happened.

Buffy stopped the rifle with her foot.

Daniels brought his light around, and they saw as the monsters overwhelmed Tokk. He was damned if he'd see both his men lost! He fired off a series of quick shots – vanquishing Tokk's attackers one by one until he was clear of them. However, after a quick inspection, it was apparent that Tokk's neck had been snapped. Either by the fall or by 'them'.

Gor'agh approached him unsteadily. "You must finish him."

"What?"

"FINISH HIM!" he repeated, taking hold of Daniels' phaser and aiming the light at his own torn face. "Or he will come back! And you will NOT be glad to see him!"

So, a little reluctantly, he vaporised his own man. "I've seen enough. Can we get the hell out of here?"

They set off again. Though Gor'agh stumbled slightly at first, he refused assistance and pushed onward. They were almost home and dry.

* * *

"What's happening?" Picard asked when firelight appeared from the tunnel taken by the away-team.

La Forge analysed his readings. "I don't know … there's a dampening field in that section!"

Picard and Riker looked at each other. Then the screen went blank.

"Have we lost the connection, Chancellor?" asked the captain.

Martok, at tactical, said: "Negative. We still have a connection. It is the screen on the station that has been disengaged!"

How? There was no one in there!

"Get it back please, Chancellor."

When the picture returned, they were surprised as something moved across the screen.

* * *

The away-team ran into the rotunda, thankful at last for safety and some lighting. Thankful to be rid of the…

…Zombies!

It must have been the entire station complement! All fresh out of hell and hungry for blood.

The group was completely encircled. They'd landed right in the middle of the spider's web. Fallen like dumb, lead bricks into Evil's trap.

Daniels and Crusher kept the nearer of the beasts in their sights; rifles ready and aimed.

But the creatures were not advancing upon them. Instead they were being watched with hungry eyes and drooling, inhuman mouths. It was some kind of nightmarish stand-off. And the Slayer had lost her knife. Worst of all, she hadn't thought to pick up the elf-man's gun. They were supposed to be safe here.

The doctor, fear-bitten, forced one shaky hand away from her phaser and pressed her insignia with more force than was necessary. "Crusher to Enterprise."

* * *

Every member of the bridge crew and every guest therein were standing, attention locked on what they struggled to believe on the screen before them. Those that were already stood had moved a step forward unconsciously.

Crusher's words sounded from the Comm system and echoed with the audio-feed from the station viewer.

For someone who had refused to believe, it was surprising that Riker was the first to drift back to reality. "Captain!"

Picard immediately came back from his hectic thoughts and said quickly: "Enterprise here. Stand by." He then hit his badge. "Bridge to main transporter room – lock on to the away-team and pull them out of there!"

* * *

"LOOK OUT!" came Riker's cry from the conference screen as the team turned to see Gor'agh yell out in pain and stumble forward.

Daniels and the doctor tried to stay focused on the zombie mass. But Worf, Buffy and Spike watched the traumatised Klingon pull something from his back and bring it round for them to see. A large knife – shaped like a stretched spade one might find on a playing card, with razor sharp teeth running along the outer rim – lay in his gloved hand. To Buffy the knife looked strangely familiar and it was stained thick with the distinctly pinkish hue of Klingon blood. His eyelids drew back suddenly and his gaze pierced Worf. Falling to his knees, the blade slipping from his hand, Gor'agh's breath came in rasping fits. "I think perhaps today … may be … a good day…" He took in a last quick breath … then fell back – arms outstretched – and came to rest on the blood-drenched floor. His eyes were still wide, but empty.

Worf let out a wild roar – the Death Wail – to warn all fallen warriors in Sto-vo-kor that another would be joining them. Gor'agh was dead. But he died with eyes open, staring death in the face. That was the important thing. The ambassador roughly flipped his dead fellow over, tore the bat'leth from his bleeding back and, with both hands, he swiftly brought it down to sever the Klingon's head from his body so that he would stay dead.

Buffy found his lack of respect for his dead friend somewhat disturbing.

But Worf simply held both swords ready and prepared to fight to the end. However that end would come.

* * *

Warren was surprised by the readings on his transporter control panel, and tapped his Comm. "Warren to bridge. I'm only reading four of the eight team members, sir."

"We know, Chief!" came Riker's voice. "Get them out of there NOW!"

* * *

"Well, isn't this a brave, new world?"

The away-team spun at the sound of a new voice from the gangway on the upper level. Stood there, one foot resting casually on the railing, was a big, spiny-headed, yellow guy. With a disturbing grin across his leathery face.

The Slayer gasped. A demon! The same breed that had attacked her during 'Slayerfest 98' – the night both she and Cordelia had failed to make Homecoming Queen. That's where she'd seen the knife!

"Now … I'm not really sure how I know this…" The demon called down to them, "but if I press this … and this…" he continued, working a control panel, "it means you're all stuck here. And that means fun for me."

Doctor Crusher confirmed it with the tricorder. "Another dampening field."

* * *

Warren swore and slammed a fist on his computer terminal.

* * *

"Listen!" Buffy called to the demon arbitrarily. "You're only doing this because you're under some kind of evil spell! You have to resist it!"

He laughed. "I am Duumok of the Miquot Clan! And _you_ are The Slayer! One of your kind banished most of mine to the Demon Realm of Iszor ten centuries ago! It was not pleasant! So, you see, … I don't take much convincing to kill you!"

"You can't honestly blame _me_ for– "

Duumok's forearm opened and another knife flipped out into his hand. He held it out to her – at her – in challenge.

"Fine," she huffed. "We'll do this your way."

Worf grabbed her arm. "DO NOT BE A FOOL! YOU WILL BE KILLED! WE MUST STAY TOGETHER!"

"Look; sooner or later you people are going to have to wake up to what a Slayer really is! Now, I've dealt with his kind before. I won't be long. Just hold the fort 'till I get back. Spike – make sure they don't leave without me."

"Aye, aye."

Without even looking to Worf for approval, she picked up Gor'agh's fallen mek'leth and ran across the rotunda floor like she had purpose. She sliced off a zombie head, ducked under a zombie arm, kicked a zombie crotch, rolled over its back, and ran on.

Hitting the first row of seats, she tossed the small sword into the air and launched herself with full Slayer-strength up to the balcony, grabbing the railings and swinging onto the upper level.

She caught the Klingon blade effortlessly and took a stance.

"Very impressive," Duumok scoffed.

"And the National Gymnastics Association of America wouldn't even give me a try-out," she replied almost conversationally. "Though, they _did_ say that if I'd been a little taller I'd have had a good chance of making the junior league. I mean; I know I'm petite, but there's no need for that kind of sarcasm, y'know?"

Duumok replied to her questioning look by frowning and letting his top lip curl up in disgust. "You talk too much. What kind of Slayer are you?"

Man, she was glad to finally meet something worth giving an ass-kicking. "Oh, I'm the kind that's gonna take that glorified bread-knife of yours and ram it through your chest."

The demon swore in his native tongue and attacked, swinging at her with the blade.

The Slayer ducked the blow and came up, locking his knife against a computer screen with her own weapon, and cracked a fist into his face. When he couldn't unlock his blade from hers, she punched him again. And again.

Letting go his grip on his knife, he grabbed for her arm – the one holding the mek'leth – and twisted it, pounding it against the railing-top. It took two attempts for her grip on the sword to loosen, and the Klingon weapon dropped from her hand; falling to the lower level; spearing a zombie in the head.

Duumok got her in a full-nelson, his fingers locking tightly behind her head. "How do you like _that_, Slayer? Now I have you right where I can kill you. How do you like it?"

The Slayer jumped off the gangway. Using the railing, she pushed herself into the air; arcing back over Duumok's head, slipping out of his grasp, and landing behind him. She kicked him at the base of his back and he slammed into the railings, almost toppling over the side.

Without looking, he shot a leg back at her, which she dodged and caught. She hooked her foot behind his, and took his grounded leg from under him.

Hitting the floor with a smack, he landed next to his knife. "How do you like _this_, Slayer?" he said as he threw it at her face.

She caught it in one hand. "Why don't you tell me?"

The demon got up quickly, looking for a place to go if she threw it back at him.

But, instead, she ran at him. Still holding his weapon, she leapt off the ground – one foot landing on the railing top. She kicked off, going higher into the air, and came down with a graceful Kung-Fu kick into the face of a surprised Duumok. He fell to his knees, and she ceaselessly moved in for the kill. She thrashed him with a variety of carefully performed kicks and finished with a spinning back-hander.

The demon stood tiredly, badly battered, the spines on his head seemed somehow to have gone limp.

She took his chin firmly in her free hand and lifted his bleeding face to hers. She gave him a severe glare that said more to him than words ever could. Then he felt his knife dig into his chest. His face gave away the shock he felt at being impaled by his own blade.

And Buffy's face said to him: 'I told you so'

"How do you like _them_ apples?" she said finally, hurling him over the rails.

His body crashed down onto the lower deck, splashing blood in a torrent.

"How do you like it?"

* * *

All those onboard the bridge of the Enterprise stood gaping – open-mouthed. All but the Scoobies.

Xander, standing behind the captain's chair, said, upon seeing their reaction: "That's our Buffy. She's rough, tough and don't take no stuff."

"Commander Riker," said Picard absently, attention fixed on the viewscreen. "Meet them in the transporter room, please." He pressed his badge. "Nurse Ogawa to main transporter room."

* * *

"Miss Summers?"

Buffy felt herself slip out of Slayer-mode all at once. Looking around, she tried to locate the source of the voice calling her.

"Miss Summers. Look to the large screen beside you."

She did. It was the bridge of the Enterprise, with Captain Picard addressing her. She spotted Xander behind him waving at her proudly.

"In order to bring you back to the Enterprise, you must de-activate the dampening field."

"How?"

* * *

The creatures had not stirred for some time, and the action above the away-team had distracted them from the presence of the beasts around them. Reality hit, however, when Daniels felt large sharp teeth dig into his arm.

The zombies moved in, and the away-team was spurred into defensive action.

* * *

Buffy looked for the emergency override selector amongst the strange multi-coloured display.

…LCARS MODE SELECT … OPERATIONS MANAGEMENT … DEPARTMENT STATUS…

"Look for a large, yellow square on the upper display," Picard said, guiding her.

…COMMUNICATIONS … EMERG OVERRIDE … OPERATIONAL PRIORI-

'_Wait,_' she thought, '_back up…_' EMERG OVERRIDE. "Got it!" she said.

"Press it."

She did. "Okay."

"Alright," Picard said, "now look at the 'Operating Systems' display beneath it … there should be a small purple semi-circle followed by the number three-five-eight … press that."

She found the button and tapped it. "Some writing's come up – a list."

"Yes. Look for 'Internal field generator' in the list."

* * *

The away-team were back to back, huddled as tightly together as they could manage, battling the monsters that wanted to devour them.

Beverly fired frantically at them, while Worf cut them down whenever one got too near. '_This 'Slayer' better hurry up with that dampening field,_' he thought.

* * *

Once she'd accessed the appropriate system, Picard told Buffy to key in the code associated with the dampening field generator. When that was done, he said for her to punch the override button again. Which she did. These damn computer displays were confusing. She wondered how in the hell Willow had managed to get to grips with them.

"It's done," the captain said, now through her Comm badge. "Well done. Now join the away-team and prepare for immediate transport."

Buffy ran to the top of the stairway… And saw the predicament that the group was in.

She saw that Daniels had lost the use of an arm, and his gun was on the floor. Thinking on her feet, she ran at full-tilt down the steps and barged through the zombies who didn't even see her coming. She pulled one of the things away from the doctor just as it was about to grab her phaser. Moving quickly around to Daniels, Buffy asked politely to borrow his rifle. She pointed it up to the ceiling and, copying Worf, fired at the piping. But, from the pipes spewed nothing but air.

"It's the other one," Daniels informed her, "The big one."

"Oh," she said. "Oops." She re-aimed.

Worf saw her and shouted out: "NO!"

It was too late. The pipe burst, sparked, and a massive gust of flame shot out into the rotunda. The away-team hit the deck, the heat just bearable. They stayed that way for a few seconds until the fuel began to run out and the flames drew back.

The things of hell – those still uncooked – had dropped back, giving the team a wide berth.

Worf got to his feet and gave the hurt Daniels some support. He gave Buffy a disgruntled look.

"It _worked_," she pointed out.

Crusher, Spike, Buffy and Worf – holding Daniels up – formed a transporter line-up in their new clearing.

"Crusher to Enterprise. We're ready when you are."

Riker's voice sounded over the Comm. "It's about time. We're beaming you up now."

The transporter took hold of them and, to their unbridled relief, they were taken away from this hell.

All except for Spike. Again.

* * *

"Spike's not here," Buffy said, scanning the room.

Warren's vision was beginning to blur as he looked at his sensor readout. So many corpses! But which one of the damned things was Spike?

Commander Riker hovered over him impatiently. "In your own time, Chief."

'_Oh, for God's sake_,' he told himself, '_just pick one!_'

* * *

One of the withered creatures slammed into Spike suddenly, sending him crashing to the deck into a puddle of blood.

It regarded him for a brief moment, then prepared to pounce…

* * *

Warren locked on his annular confinement beam with some degree of confidence, and initialised the transporter stream, gently sliding his fingers up the control panel.

Matter began to re-combine on the transporter pad, coming together to form a dark figure.

Riker put a congratulatory hand on Warren's shoulder.

However, when the glittering shimmer of the matter-stream had subsided, Warren could have leapt into a vat of plasma coolant.

A hideous monstrosity formed before them, and it seemed angered to have been brought there.

Everyone leaving the room spun upon hearing its low growl and, as it lunged at them all, Buffy slipped Worf's d'k tagh knife from his belt, spun, and threw it with instinctive precision – right between its vacant eyes. The creature reeled back, giving Crusher the time to raise her rifle and blast it into oblivion.

All of them, especially Riker, turned to look at Warren.

His face had gone an unflattering shade of red and, as hard as he tried to utter an apology, nothing came out.

* * *

The zombie was about to turn Spike into vampire mincemeat, when it vanished in a shimmering aura.

'_Son of a…!_' Spike cursed mentally. They'd beam any old freak out of this hellhole except for him! Then it clicked. He was just as much a corpse as these things were. But he wasn't gonna stay here if he could help it.

Spike rolled backward onto his feet and jumped off the ground, knocking one of 'them' down with a fierce kick. When he landed, he licked blood from the side of his hand in a Bruce Lee-esque manner, but instead of spitting it out he swallowed deeply. The blood was all around him and he became aware of the smell of it. Sour and metallic. Beautiful. He felt its dark life-force filling every part of him.

Dark Flowing Surrounding Filling Red Danger BLOOD!

His face creased – brow dropping to create a menacing scowl – teeth becoming deadly weapons – the nature of the vampire empowering him with a sudden infusion of strength. His senses doubled – sight, sound, smell – focusing together like an animal.

Sensing the movement behind him, he caught the bony hand that reached for him. Spinning to face his attacker, he let go of the arm and side kicked it right in the head sending it crashing back and into the floor. It was down but not out, yet Spike knew what he needed to do and there was no time to waste on these creatures. All it took was one distraction, and they'd be all over him.

He threw the wrench he still held, catching the fallen zombie before it could recover, and turned back to face his target – the dead Klingon.

Gor'agh's decapitated body lay only 10 feet away, his communicator still wrapped firmly around his forearm. A number of monstrous things, however, blocked the path. He was gonna have to move fast and use his speed to out-manoeuvre these things.

"You picked one hell of a time to turn to the light-side," he muttered to himself.

All at once he rushed forward and tackled the first zombie he met, lifting it off the ground and smashing it back down again with such force that its liquefied insides burst from its shattered body. Without faltering, he came up and grabbed the next one – which had gotten close – by the arm and whipped it round, twisting the limb so that the creature was forced to bend. Then he shot his leg out and kicked it in the ribs – sending it soaring into the path of most of its oncoming friends, and leaving the vampire holding a severed arm.

He eyed the limb; both surprised and amused.

Turning back, he saw that only one more stood in his way. And it was BIG.

So, he cracked it with the thick end of the arm; sending a mangy head soaring across the rotunda. Just another game of Baseball. "_Now_ I hit a homerun," he moaned. "Charmin'."

Seeing that his path was now clear, he made his break for the exit…

…Until two more appeared from either side of him.

Not willing to risk any more delays, he simply dived to the floor and slipped between them – beneath their grasp – and right into Gor'agh. He took hold of the Klingon's arm and fumbled with the clasp that held the Comm-unit in place for a second that seemed like a second too long.

While he did this, he scanned the device for the button that might activate it. When it finally came free, he rolled quickly away from the two creatures he'd ducked past – the ones that were now coming for him – and hit all the buttons on the communicator in desperation.

"HELLO!" he yelled into it, pressing and pressing feverishly.

"HELLO! … CAN ANY–?"

"Warren here!" came a heavenly reply at last. "Stand by."

'_Thank God!_' Then he frowned. What was he thinking? 'God'?

Spike, now secure in the knowledge he was saved, got up to face the horde of monstrosities that now surrounded him. Wiping off his long coat, and holding onto the Comm-unit, he stretched out both arms and gave them all the finger.

"Kiss my tight, pale arse, you mindless freaks!"

* * *

Spike appeared on the transporter platform – ragged, bloody, and vamp-faced.

He looked peeved. "Next time that happens, someone dies. Damn the bloody chip."

"Next time, wear your badge," Buffy retorted.

* * *

"My tricorder didn't detect them," Crusher said when Picard came out of his readyroom to meet her at the centre of the bridge.

"And I didn't pick them up on the bio sensors," admitted La Forge.

"They were _demon zombies_!" Spike declared. "Not soddin' E.T!"

Giles made an observation: "It would appear that your computers weren't built to register things of supernatural origin."

"How can they?" Willow both asked and stated. "Think about it; these computers were built in a universe where 'supernatural' is just a word. How can they sense what doesn't even exist?"

Captain Picard gave it some thought, then asked La Forge: "Can we reconfigure all our sensors to track any animate dead…" He paused, trying to find the appropriate words. "…Mortal remains?"

"Sure. I'll modify the transporter program we created for Spike. I might need to increase the bandwidth, but it shouldn't interfere with our other sensor systems."

"Make it so, Geordi."

"Aye, sir," he replied and moved from Ops to a station at the rear of the bridge.

Spike caught Buffy looking at him thoughtfully. "What?"

"I'm trying to remember what you said to me right before you attacked my head with a wrench."

Xander instantly came over all defensive.

Spike put up his hands. "Whoa there, Sonny. It's not what you think. I was under… well… I was–"

"He was a minion of Evil," Buffy told them with pleasure.

Xander smiled at that, making sure Spike saw his amusement.

"I was _not_ a minion. It's just… Darkness–"

"Darkness!" Buffy exclaimed. "That's what he said! And the zombie-guy that tried to eat my face said it was 'for Darkness'."

'_Darkness,_' thought Willow. '_That's it! That's what the Creatress had said!_'

"Giles?" said Willow quizzically. "Does the _name_ 'Darkness' mean anything to you?"

"Darkness? …Darkness…" It did hold a familiarity for the ex-Watcher. He remembered the tale from the old cloth-bound book. "…Lands fell to …Darkness! Oh, dear lord!"

"Here we go," Xander jested.

Anya, meanwhile, thought back to her days as a demon and began to recall a very distant memory.

Giles struggled to find the reference he was trying to make and, when he saw that the ex-demon too was deep in thought, he asked: "Anya – you know something?"

She started to explain her thoughts, realising that Picard's crew were also looking at her intently: "When…this 'friend' of mine first became a vengeance demon," she said carefully, "there was a…'story'…called 'Rhm'pestihl'n' – the Arash'ma term for 'Darkness'. The elders used to tell it to the young ones to keep them on the path of true evil. Something about the universe being formed by 'Darkness' so that he may lie in wait whilst life formed, and then come along and destroy it. Don't ask me why. And the only thing that kept Rhm'pestihl'n from destroying the world and taking the demon children was if they did as they were told and mess the world up enough to keep him entertained. Otherwise Rhm'pestihl'n would do it for them – for a price.

It went … 'Darkness would come for the young ones and take them from Arashmaharr to be enslaved and made to eat Human flesh.' I think that was it. D'Hoffryn used to tell it best. But the story got a little diluted over the years. I think now humans call it Rumpelstiltskin."

"Just a _little_ diluted, then?" Xander quipped.

Giles relieved some of his agitation by cleaning the lenses of his spectacles with a hanky. "I'm not sure how much of that we can rely on, but I believe I'm beginning to understand the nature of this 'evil' being."

They were all regarding him eagerly.

"Well, it...it's evil."

Upon seeing their expressions of 'Ya don't say', he explained: "It has no desire but to destroy and consume. It feeds on it. Thrives on it. _Enjoys_ it. I believe that its ultimate goal will be to open the Hellmouth."

"Hellmouth?" – It was Commander Riker.

Giles quickly explained to them what the Hellmouth was and that it was a fixed point on Earth – in _their_ reality. "Though 'Darkness' may have the power to open it in _all_ realities. Consuming the entire universe in all its forms."

Very bad.

"I must warn Earth," said Picard. "Give them time to prepare a defence if Data… if 'Darkness'…_is_ on his way there."

Riker was tapping the small panel to the side of his chair. "There's no way to know where he went, Captain. It looks like he's masked his engine emissions with a polaron field this time."

'_Great_'

"Last time he _wanted_ us to follow him," Spike said. "So we'd see _that_." He indicated the station with a flick of his head.

"We're not in any condition to go after him at the moment," said Picard. "Besides, we have our new orders. We are to rendezvous with the USS Rutherford at Starbase McClintock for repairs and a briefing."

"The Rutherford?" Riker asked, quite surprised.

Cpt. Freeman and his ship had acquired quite a reputation throughout Starfleet. Many young officers applied for positions on his ship, and only a few 'lucky' ones apparently made the crew complement. The Enterprise had never come across the Rutherford before, and Riker was curious as to why it was such a popular ship. Soon he may just find out.

He answered a beep at his small console and reported: "All the station logs have been downloaded, Captain."

Picard nodded sombrely, sat down in his central chair, and tugged on his tunic. "Do we have torpedoes yet?"

A young engineering crewman replied from the aft console: "Just this minute, Captain."

Picard gazed for a long instant at the image of the science stations' exterior, then continued: "I fear, Number One, that with the safety of the universe at stake… Data may be lost."

Riker knew what he meant. "Not if we can help it, sir."

After another moment, Picard said: "Chancellor Martok – lock onto the fuel supply. Fire a low intensity phaser blast. Just enough to break the hull."

A moment later, liquid fuel spilled out into space around the station.

"Helm – move us away from the station."

"Aye, sir."

"Single quantum torpedo, Chancellor. Target the heart of the structure and fire on my mark."

The captain addressed his crew: "What I am about to do," he began, "I do with sadness in my heart. But, above all, I do it for the spirit of all the innocent men, women, children and officers that dedicated years – and their lives – to the pursuit of knowledge and the advancement of the Federation. And who made this station their home."

Deanna gave him a reassuring smile, just so he knew he was doing the right thing. It gave him the strength he needed to make the order without faltering.

"Fire."


	10. The Rutherford

(Brief note: For visual reference, I have always imagined Cpt. Freeman to be 'played' by George Clooney – when his hair was longer and he wore a beard. And Cmdr. Vaun by a slightly tougher Sting (The English musician formerly of the Police – NOT the wrestler) who, at one time, had his head shaved almost bald. Picture all other of my Original Characters based on my descriptions. Cheers. Enjoy.)

**

* * *

**

**- The Rutherford -**

_**10**_

The _U.S.S. Rutherford_, NCC-69501, shot past a bubbling symbiotic star, a number of gaseous nebulas and twisters, and a deep-space hydrogen swirl in a blur as it moved across space at 214 times the speed of light.

The Akira-class vessel; with a modern style that detracted from its true 6 years of service, had a roughly circular saucer section about as wide as the saucer of a Sovereign-class ship. The exterior style of the saucer section itself was based loosely on that of the NX-01 Enterprise that had been commanded by Jonathan Archer during the 22nd century.

The secondary hull, housing the deflector dish, was much smaller than most, and was held tight up to the underside of the saucer. Two 'arms' stretched back from the main hull on either side of the bridge and met the catamaran style 'wings' holding the warp nacelles, which were angled downwards. She was a tough ship. As was her captain…

* * *

'Captain's log, Stardate 53891.4:

Having identified a general distress beacon just within Federation space, at the edge of the Bazari Territory, we're making a brief detour from our current mission to offer assistance. We're taking every precaution, however, as the troubled vessel is not responding to hails and does not appear to be emitting an identity code.'

Captain Dave Freeman, sitting on the edge of his desk, slid the desktop computer to one side and rubbed at his thick goatee beard, unaware he was doing so. Alone in his ante-room, he pondered briefly upon the events of the day. The morning had proven to be less than fruitful.

Since the end of the Dominion war, almost exactly a year ago, a number of rogue Jem'Hadar soldiers were known to have formed various dissident groups, determined to terrorise the Federation and wreak revenge. Their in-built genetic need to fight driving them to remain at war with their enemy. Following a tip-off, the Rutherford had investigated a small moon that may have been used as a Jem'Hadar base of operation for one such group.

Either that group had caught wind of Starfleets' investigation and fled before their arrival, or the whole thing had been a false alarm.

Never the less, their mission had expanded to a search of 'secret' facilities owned by the Son'a – known manufacturers of the illegal substance Ketracel-white. Were it not for this substance, there would _be_ no Jem'Hadar to worry about. Genetically engineered by the Dominion, their very lives depended on a regular supply of the 'drug'.

…And, less than an hour ago, the strangest general alert communiqué had come in. Apparently, for reasons yet to be specified, Starfleet had recalled all vessels within 2.5 light years of headquarters to return immediately to Earth to form a tachyon grid around the Terran homeworld.

The Rutherford herself had been well out of the specified distance, yet the lack of information only fuelled her crew's desire to know more. Was the Federation under threat? Was Earth expecting a barrage of cloaked ships to attack? Were the Dominion back for more?

So many questions. And so many rumours to quell.

With such uncertainty in the air, the Captain approached this new development with added care.

That's why he'd told Chevva to halt the Rutherford once they were in visual and sensor range of the distressed vessel.

* * *

"Looks like an old Ferengi trader-ship," Commander Coren Vaun observed as his Captain stepped onto the bridge.

The bridge module was barely over a year old, and five years younger than the ship itself, as the Rutherford had undergone its 5-year refit prior to Freeman's command. New grey and blue carpets had been laid. The stark lighting had been toned down to match newer vessels. And, because of the combative nature of the Rutherford's missions, the rear of the bridge from tactical to the aft workstations had been extended to include a fairly large, circular table that showed a tactical mapping grid – similar to air traffic control radar systems of old.

Freeman eased into his raised chair between his 2 commanders and sat casually. Tapping a button on his armrest, he switched off the Trill music that had been playing quietly in the background, and looked to the viewer. The long-range visual showed a small, battered, un-maintained vessel with the style and colour that was distinctly Ferengi in origin.

"Seen betta days, I reckon," Helmsman Chevva Swift quipped with a heavy Caribbean accent.

"The distress call is no longer active, Dave," came Lieutenant Gataana's deep, resonating voice from tactical.

Tactical consisted of 2 semi-circular stations behind the command chairs. One was an emergency back-up that was only manned during combat situations. The other was always manned – for the most part by the head of security – Lt. Gataana.

The large, female Antican ran her fur-covered, clawed hands over the controls and went on: "And there are no life-readings."

"Someone must've sent out that call," said the young commander to Freeman's left – his second officer – Saskia Romani.

She was right that someone must have been onboard to initiate _and_ shut off the distress call.

"Try hailing them again, Taana," he said.

"Still no response. The vessel is badly damaged. Its shields are no longer active."

This bore further scrutiny. "Take us in closer," he said to Chevva at the Conn.

At Ops, . Danil Oom – a youthful man with short, carefully styled light-blond hair with an equally carefully executed beard, and slightly pointed ears – scanned the Ferengi ship from bow to stern. "Oh, my," he said with mild shock in his voice. "That ship's packed a good three metric tonnes above maximum capacity. …And I thought temporal-cascade warheads were illegal under section sixty-seven of the third Khitomer Accord."

"They are," Cmdr. Vaun confirmed.

"Well, somebody didn't get that memo… because I'm picking up power emissions from two of 'em onboard."

"Is that so?" Freeman mused. A Ferengi selling goods outlawed by the Federation _in_ Federation space. No doubt heads would roll for this. "Commander – take an away team over there."

Both Vaun and Saskia – his first and second officers – got up.

"Whoa there," Freeman said to Cmdr. Romani. "Commander Vaun's leading this mission."

The pair looked at each other obstinately.

Romani began to protest: "But–"

Then her captain interceded tactfully: "You're the 'people-person'," he said to her. "He's the 'problem-person'. What we have here…is a problem." He opened his arms out to the viewscreen. "No people."

She nodded and sat, putting on an air of humour. "So what's _your_ job again?"

Freeman, always keen to keep the mood light, took her lead. "Hey, I'm just here to referee between _you_two – make sure you don't claw each others eyes out."

The problem Freeman had found with those two was that they were on opposite ends of the spectrum. That is; Saskia was the most carefree, fun-loving member of the crew, whereas Vaun was the most straight-laced and rigid. Like chalk and cheese they were. Nevertheless, still, not good enough reason for them not to get on better at times.

The captain then addressed his first: "Vaun – if you do find any crew onboard, take them into custody. I'd like to ask them myself what they think they're doing here."

Vaun gave a nod and made for the turbolift. "Taana – you're recruited."

The security chief joined him and the two officers proceeded to the lift, and left for the transporter room.

When Romani saw her captain giving her that questioning 'I'm-not-angry-but-I'd-like-an-explanation' puppy-dog expression he used regularly, she wasn't quite sure what to tell him. And she noticed again, as she often did, that he was a ruggedly handsome man, in some inexplicable way.

"I got carried away," she said. "I just thought it was… you know… my turn."

"Your turn?" he replied, a wide smile crossing his face. "We're out here on behalf of Starfleet Command, not kindergarten," he joked. "But I know what you mean. Trouble with being a captain is that most of the time you find yourself sitting on the sidelines while everyone else gets in the thick of it. Sometimes I wanna just say 'to hell with it' and lead the away missions. But rules is rules, Sass. That's why they make 'em."

"Some say they're made to be broken," she said in response.

He regarded her with uncertainty. What was the problem she had with the first officer, anyway? She was only half Trill, so was it because Vaun was a 'joined' Trill? Because she can't be joined? Does that mean she was angry with her Human father too?

It was probably about time he addressed this before it caused any real difficulties.

* * *

The instant Vaun materialised in the cockpit of the small craft, wet beads of condensation began to form on his skin. Something must have been wrong with the environmental systems because the inside of the cramped ship had become an oven. He wiped a hand over his moist head with ease, as his light, slightly receding hair was shaved close to the skin. The air was thick and hot, making it difficult to breathe.

Next to him, Gataana hissed and rubbed the top of her long cranium – the largest part of her that was not covered in thick white fur, therefore the only place that moisture formed.

Vaun undid the neck of his shirt. "Check for people in the hold. I'll see if I can get us some fresh, cool air to breathe."

The big, dog-like Antican ducked through a small Ferengi-sized opening and moved into the rear section of the vessel obediently.

Vaun sat in the pilot's seat and began working the Ferengi console. He re-routed power to fix the environmental problem and to get him access to the computer system. The circuits must have been badly fried, because the whole computer network was fudged. None of the systems were linking with each other as they should. It was going to take some work.

He was busy trying to locate the crew logs when Gataana returned from the aft compartment with a small PADD. "I have the cargo manifest."

"Find anyone?"

"No," she said, holding up something pink and fleshy. "Unless this counts."

* * *

As time went on, Cmdr. Romani was becoming more and more laid back. There were times when Vaun took the job a little too seriously for Freeman. Yet, similarly, Saskia wasn't taking things seriously enough. He liked to think of himself as the balance between the two.

"This crew's been together for over a year now," he was saying to her, "and they've grown pretty tight in that time. Whatever ill-feelings you have toward your senior commander… you have to deal with them and try to move beyond them, because right now this ship's at one hundred percent. I need her at a hundred and ten. You're good at what you do, Sass. And, as a young commander, I can cut you a little slack… but you'll find more and more that you'll need to mature if you want to forge a successful career for yourself. Though here's probably not the best environment to study maturity, but–"

"Vaun to Rutherford."

When the captain didn't confirm Vaun's communication, Saskia turned to see what was wrong with him.

"You're the commander," he told her. "I'm just a referee."

So, she responded on his behalf: "Go ahead, Commander."

"Well, there's no crew. But we found living-space enough for one person. He was definitely a Ferengi."

"How can you be sure?"

"We found an ear."

The glances exchanged on the bridge went to show that that had been the last thing any of them had expected to hear.

Vaun continued his report: "Looking over his inventory, we've noticed a number of things missing from the cargo manifest. …A case of sarium crystals, a subspace transceiver unit, a compact sensor assembly and a couple of processing blocks."

Gataana's resounding speech then growled from the Comm: "Also a control and display interface is missing. And a container of ruggedized positive-feedback buttons – non-configured."

Lt. Cmdr. Danil Oom looked over his shoulder from Ops. "Parts for some kind of mobile remote?"

"But at the same time there are things here that _aren't_ on his manifest," Vaun went on. "A shipment of Romulan ale for example…and other illicit goods. He's even pulled out the transporter to make more cargo space."

The ship was designed to be small and sturdy enough to enter the atmosphere of a planet and set down. In fact, if Freeman recalled correctly, he believed they were originally the Ferengi equivalent of a type 9A shuttle. Not at all surprising, then, that a profit-craving Ferengi would do away with the transporter pad – or any other mod cons – to improve business. But what was going on?

Freeman sighed heavily. "Have you noticed that you'll often find yourself ranting on about how you love a good mystery. …But when one finally comes along, all you want are answers."

"Irony mocks us that way," Sass chimed.

"All we can do is report this to Starfleet," the captain said. "They'll likely inform Ferenginar – tell them to clean up their own mess. I expect the Federation president will want to know what an illegal Ferengi trader was doing in his space in the first place."

Oom swivelled around to face Freeman. "Perhaps he was trying to drum up a little extra business. Most of what he's selling's pretty mundane for the Bazari Territory. Maybe he figured he could attract customers that wouldn't dare to venture into that area."

Sometimes he sounded so damn logical that Freeman thought he really _was_ a Vulcan. "That's no excuse for breaking our laws, Dan."

Saskia then added: "Funny thing is …you'd have thought he'd have been safer in Federation space, what with the reputation the Territory has."

Chevva Swift – the young Jamaican lieutenant at the helm – turned in his seat to join the debate. "Could he haff bin tryin' ta flee from dat region? From an attacker what followed 'im 'ere?"

"Could be," Freeman agreed. "The only way we'll know for sure is when we examine his log entries. Assuming he bothered to make any."

Vaun – who was still working on the Ferengi computer – heard the entire debate over the Comm. "That's going to be a problem, Dave. All logs and sensor records have been deleted. We might not be able to reconstruct them either. Looks as though there's a barrier-code preventing access to the computer's core memory. It's completely blocked. …But the engines definitely haven't been used for a number of hours. Rules out Chevva's chase theory."

Dan Oom checked his readings again. "The hull damage isn't consistent with a chase attack, either. Whoever did this came from the front. Within seven or eight hundred meters. Logic would suggest that he was approached by a potential customer who then disabled him, beamed over to his ship and robbed him. Possibly killed him."

There he went with that logic crap again.

"All for a few measly gadgets?" Sass said in astonishment.

"Hadly seem wort' da effort," Chevva agreed.

"From the disruptor damage," Dan reported, "I'd say it was Breen. Possibly Klingon. The violent nature of the attack would be more consistent with the Breen."

Freeman shook his head. "If it were the Breen… they'd have taken the warheads."

"There's a secured message coming in for you, Dave. From Admiral Wheeler," the ensign who was now at tactical announced.

"Okay." Freeman got up. "Vaun – find out what you can about the attack. I'd like to know who's responsible for this." Then he turned to tactical. "I'll take the call in my office, Ensign … Peters." He really had to look over the crew manifest again. Some of those new faces still needed names!

* * *

The Admiral's instructions had been oddly brief, and unrevealing.

But something told Freeman that it had to be related to whatever was going on back on Earth.

* * *

Returning to the bridge, he immediately re-opened the Comm-link to Vaun. "Anything?" he asked of his first officer.

"Nothing new. This'll take forever."

"It'll have to wait. Wrap things up over there and both of you beam back a.s.a.p."

"There a problem?"

"I don't know. We have orders to meet the Enterprise immediately – no delay."

"Suits me. I never like being this close to the Bazari Territory, anyway."

Freeman let out a sigh and took his chair. "Do any of us?"

* * *

Starbase McClintock was almost in sight when Picard went to them. He found the group – excluding Spike – together in Mr. Giles' quarters. On arrival, he saw them huddled in the couch area around the small coffee table, brainstorming and planning. This had given Picard some degree of hope in resolving the situation, until young Willow admitted they weren't making any progress. He'd also noticed that the Slayer…that is…Buffy…was not among them. Instead, he saw that she had isolated herself. Stood in the far corner of the room, she stared out the window with utter detachment in her eyes. All the time Picard was there, she did not move or register him in any way. He thought to himself that her mind must have been far away from the Enterprise. In another universe perhaps.

Firstly, he told them that he had come in person to see how his guests were coping with the situation. Then he went on to explain that they could not be allowed the same amount of freedom on the starbase as they had had on the Enterprise. That it was, in fact, quite against the rules.

In addition, as far as the meeting with Admiral Wheeler was concerned, he would only speak to Giles. Picard voiced his agreement with that decision, because it was very important that the Admiral take the situation as seriously as it was, and Giles had an air about him that demanded a serious ear. Moreover, he was a proper grown-up.

As he turned to leave them, he glanced at Buffy one last time to see if she would acknowledge him before he went. She did not.

So, he gave them all a heartening smile. "Try to rest some," he said before the doors slid shut.

* * *

Buffy's mind was a blur of maybes and what ifs. A world of parallel universe's wherein she was doing all the things she felt she needed to be doing rather than standing on a spaceship 300-and-some years in the wrong future. At the same time, she saw in her mind's eye such nightmarish things. Things that might be happening back home. Happening to her sister.

'_She's not your sister_'

'She _is_ my sister'

'_You don't sound too sure. She's just a key_'

'She is my sister! I remember everything! …Like the first time she said my name. It had sounded more like 'Boof'. Everyone thought it was funny when they heard her. Even Uncle Phil and he hardly ever laughed. She _is_ my sister'

"She's not safe," Buffy said when she felt Willow's presence beside her. "There's some crazy Super-Bitch looking for Dawn and there's nothing I can do."

Willow rested a hand gently on her friend's shoulder. "We're all worried, Buffy. About _everybody_back home. When we get back …we _will_ do something."

"I just feel so …lost. They sent her to _me_. So that I could protecther. I _should_ be protecting her. Instead…

…I can't focus anymore, Will. I feel like all this," she said, nodding her head to the stars, "is getting in the way of what I really should be doing."

Willow dropped her head. She tried to find the right words to say, but couldn't. "Riley's with her, and I know he wouldn't let anything happen to Dawn. I bet Tara's helping too! …I'm sure they're doing just fine."

'_But the Super-Bitch is so strong_…'


	11. Without You

**- Without You -**

_**11**_

"What the hell is _he_ doing here?"

The bell rang a second time when the door to the Magic Box closed behind the dark figure that stood before Riley.

"I called him," Dawn squeaked from the corner of the room – behind the staircase – where she'd been sat with her arms wrapped around her knees all day. Head-in-lap. This must have been the first time since Buffy disappeared that she'd stopped shaking.

The dark figure, dressed in black, drew himself up to Riley until they were face-to-face. "She told me what happened."

Riley gritted his teeth. Exactly how much he hated being this close to the newcomer he couldn't say, but to think that Dawn had felt the need to call on him ...it felt like salt in an open wound.

"She asked for my help," the dark man stated with more smugness than Riley could stand.

"We don't need it," Riley shot back.

"That's not what I've heard."

What had Dawn said to him? Riley turned to see her drop her gaze away from him. Then he looked back at the newcomer who said: "Maybe she doesn't feel safe with _you_."

That was the final straw! "Tara, can you take Dawn into the back? …Angel and I have a few loose ends to tie up."

To Riley's surprise, Tara said: "No. We d-don't have time for this. Buffy, Giles, Xander, Anya and W-Willow," she stopped a moment to gather her feelings, "are missing. F-for all we know in _Hell_. Do you want to get them back, or not?"

Riley was shocked by her sudden forcefulness.

Angel saw Tara's worry. Though he didn't know the girl, she was clearly right. If things really were as troubled as Dawn had indicated then there was no time to be fighting Riley. Plus, Buffy wouldn't be too happy about it if he did. So he decided to try diplomacy. "Dawn was just worried. She only wants to get her sister back. That's all any of us wants."

The sun had not long since set, and Angel's journey from Los Angeles had been spent cowering in the back of his Plymouth convertible in the safety of the shade. He'd spent the entire trip listening yet again to Wesley's exaggerated tale of his recent outing in which he'd had to pose _as_ Angel in order to protect a girl who, it seemed, was now his girlfriend. With that in mind, he was glad to have arrived. But, as much as Angel wanted to uncover the Scoobies' mysterious disappearance, he also wanted to get it done and get back to his city quickly. He knew Gunn and Cordelia could cope alone for as long as it took, but now that Darla was back – living and breathing – somewhere …he _had_ to find her. Before Wolfram and Hart did.

The doorbell sounded once again and Wesley came ambling in. "The parking here's outrageous! You really ought to get yourself one of those disabled stickers, Angel." Seeing the confrontational stand-off between Angel and Riley, he stopped. "Angel …you promised."

"I know," he replied, stepping further into the shop. Both to look around and to give Riley his space. "How did it happen?"

"Well…what did Dawn tell you?"

Angel wandered up to the table where Tara sat with a stack of opened books. "Box. Light. Poof. Gone."

"That's about all there was to it," Riley responded, clearly finding it difficult to remain civil with Angel. The bitterness from their last meeting still fresh in his gut. "There was an inscription on the box. Dawn …she…"

Tara picked up the remainder of his sentence: "She didn't mean to read it."

"So she was coerced?" Wesley asked.

"I d-don't think it was as simple as–"

"I'm right _here_!" Dawn called.

Wesley realised they'd been talking around her rather than to her. "Yes. My apologies. You didn't read the inscription of your own free will?"

She shook her head slowly, tears filling her eyes. "There was something inside my head …making me do it." Her head fell between her curled up knees and she wept quietly.

"But you didn't _want_ to do it?" Wes prodded.

Without looking up, she said: "It _made_ me want to do it."

"I see," Wesley said, thinking it over. "At least that gives us something to work with."

Angel gave Dawn a quiet minute before he asked Riley: "What's the situation here?"

Riley faltered. "I…I'm not sure. Buffy didn't really …that is, I haven't…"

That was all Angel needed to hear. "She kept you out of the loop, huh?"

"No. Not exactly. I've …been busy."

"What's the matter? Things not working out between you? Can't say I'm surprised, really. I never could see her settling with someone so…" Angel searched for the word he wanted.

"Alive?" Riley cut in quickly.

"I was going to say boring."

"As opposed to the thrilling life that is brooding? Those exciting summer days spent staying in and _not_ having sex?"

In a flash, Angel was in Riley's face again. "I've lived enough for three lifetimes and I may just live a hundred more. Face it, Boy. I'm more alive than you'll _ever_ be."

"Got a pointy piece of wood right here that begs to differ."

Wesley approached them with raised hands. "Now, now, gentlemen…"

Both men hit him with a warning glare.

"…don't let me stop you," he finished, backing away.

"You gonna stake me, Finn?"

"Just give me an excuse, _vampire_. Wait…that _would_ be the excuse!"

At that, an unexpected knock came at the door to the shop.

At first, Riley looked to Angel. Maybe it was another of his group. But the vampire shook his head slightly in the negative.

"It's open!" Riley yelled, still seething from his face-off with Angel.

Nothing moved.

The group exchanged puzzled looks between themselves before Riley moved over to the entrance, motioning for the others to stay back. They certainly weren't expecting anyone. Besides, there wasn't anybody left in town to expect.

He saw no one through the front windows, so Riley gripped the door handle tightly and held it there during a moment of apprehension. Then he quickly turned it, and tugged the door open. What greeted him was quite unexpected. A short, sickly looking creature with a bad skin condition stood humbly in the small doorway wearing a simple brown robe.

"I am Dreg." He bowed slightly and continued: "The wonderfully splendiferous Glorificus has asked me to collect an item of hers that is, at present, in your possession."

Riley frowned at the odd demon. "What item?"

"A Key," Dreg responded with holy wonder.

Finn stepped to the side so that Tara could see the creature and looked to her, hoping she knew something about his purchase.

Tara shrugged. "Would you like us t-to wrap it for you?"

With a sardonic grin, Dreg answered: "That won't be necessary. We will take it as it is."

'_We…?_'

The rear of the shop came to life suddenly as a horde of Dreg's cousins stormed the Magic Box. They appeared from the back – through the training room – and came at them wielding axes.

Riley grabbed Dreg by the flap of his robe and pulled him roughly into the shop, drawing back a fist to beat him with. But the demon, who had other ideas, pulled a knife from the belt of his gown and tried to stab it into Riley's side. Finn saw the movement in time to catch his arm and he redirected the knife deep into Dreg's stomach. The demon whimpered once, then collapsed.

Before Dreg's vile body even hit the floor, Riley was already extending his baton and joining the fight. Though his body was moved to combat, his mind whirled with the question of just what in the hell was going on.

Angel caught the underside of the axe-blade with Giles' old broom, which splintered and bent. It was enough of a pause in the demon's attack for the vampire to crack a heel into its kneecap, causing the creature to buckle in a fit of pain.

It soon halted its squealing, however, when Angel lanced it with one half of the broom-handle. The other half he threw dart-like – catching another one in the neck. The demon went down, the brush end of the broom protruding comically from its throat.

Behind the chaos, Dawn slipped along the rear wall, the demons apparently oblivious to her presence. She'd almost made it to the training room door when two late arrivals ran into her on their way in. The pair of robed demons were about to shove her to one side when one of them suddenly stopped and recognised her. She was the one. The girl. "It is the Key!"

Angel saw them from his position near the counter. When they took hold of Dawn – who was screaming frantically – he stepped onto the round table and leapt over the action around him. Landing next to Dawn, he scared the demon-monks enough that they let her go. He thanked them by ploughing his fist into their faces. Hell, wasn't like they could get any uglier.

Angel was beginning to notice how pathetic these creatures were. He'd hit them both fairly hard in the face, and that was usually enough to get a demon mad, but one of them was already out cold and the other was clutching its face, whining like an infant. They clearly were not fighters by nature.

He backed Dawn into a corner where he could more easily protect her. "You alright?"

She nodded.

"Stay down."

Riley always loved The A-Team. Especially when B.A used to hurl people over counters and cars like they were stuffed teddies. So, when one of the scabby monks copied Angel and jumped at him from the table, he caught it mid-leap and flung it behind the shop counter with considerably less ease than Mr T. The demon hit the shelves on the wall and disappeared behind the till with a thud. As Riley moved round the counter to finish it off, he caught sight of another coming at him with its weapon raised.

The robed creature swung its axe at Riley's head, which he blocked with the fold-up section of the counter. His attacker tried to pull the blade from out the wood, so Finn responded quickly by pushing the heavy till off the worktop – right onto the thing's foot. Screaming in agony, the demon bent down to free itself.

Riley saw the chance he'd hoped for. He ripped the axe from the counter, letting the hatch fall shut, spun the axe in his hands and planted it nicely between the demon's shoulder blades. It didn't scream after that.

With Wesley guarding over her, Tara hid under Giles' desk by the round table. She was desperately trying to remember words to spell-cast, but her mind had decided to suddenly go blank on her. What she really needed was a spell book. The Lexicon of Fire or something. Then she could do some damage.

Wes picked up the biggest spell book on the table. He recognised it as The Lexicon of Fire, a book of spells he wouldn't have minded flicking through sometime. He smashed it into the side of a demon's face. Two more came at him unarmed. One pounced onto his back and wrapped an arm around his neck. Before he could counteract, another rushed at him with a fist.

Wesley instinctively heaved the book up before his face, and the punch was blocked with the breaking of bones. As the demon cried out and fell to its knees, a third appeared in its place – swinging an axe.

Wes quickly swung the Lexicon over his shoulder, catching the one on his back at the top of its hairy scalp, and, when it dropped away from him, he threw the heavy book at the face of the third one. All his attackers were down, but they were not out, so he lifted the fallen blade and went for them with a mind to kill.

Riley caught the wood of an axe and belted the demon under the ribs with a tight fist. It released the weapon and fell breathless to the ground leaving Riley holding an ancient, long-handled hatchet. What he failed to see was the robed creature behind him – swinging a blade wildly at his head with such force that the air screeched.

When Riley turned, he saw the edge of the axe-blade resting less than an inch from his eye. Held there by Angel's hand.

The arm holding the blade twisted in Angel's grip and he brought a knee up into the demon-monk's stomach. As it let go of the weapon, Angel spun with it and cut the beast down.

Something clambered behind Finn, and he saw the one he'd just jabbed a moment before getting back to its feet with determination in its eyes. So he took the axe in both hands and buried it deep in the demon's chest. It hit the floor and rested there. No more of them attacked, and all about the shop floor were scattered bodies.

When Riley looked back, Angel was still standing there. "Thanks. Guess that means I owe you one."

"Forget it," Angel replied. Apparently he really meant it, as he left Riley to go check on his friend.

Wesley dropped the axe and laid the dented book back on the table. Straightening his glasses, he looked around them at the dozen or so fallen bodies. "Whatever in the world just happened here?"

"More to the point," Angel corrected, "what did they want with Dawn?"

The young girl didn't come out from the corner. Her distress was now absolute.

Tara crawled from under the desk and went over to Riley. "Could this be connected to…to what happened yesterday?"

"What happened yesterday?" Angel asked.

Finn began to explain: "The shop was broken into–"

"Was anything taken?" the vampire cut in.

Riley frowned with thought. "Tara?"

"Oh …they took …there's a…" She recovered some papers from behind the counter and picked one out. "A Sobekian Blood Stone and Khul's Amulet."

"Good God," Wesley uttered in surprise. "Those two items should _never_ be brought together! Giles kept them both here?! The man was a Watcher for goodness sake! What on Earth was he thinking?"

Riley frowned. "What's this got to do with anything?"

"Sobekites," Wes answered.

"Who?"

Tara quickly gave him the answer: "They were an ancient Egyptian cult who…who once practised dark magic."

"How dark?" Angel asked.

"The darkest," said Wesley. "Their powers of transmogrify were world-feared. But, as I recall, the Amulet and Blood Stone are completely of no use without the scroll containing the transmogrification spells. Those were supposedly lost aeons ago."

"Supposedly?" Riley replied questioningly.

Angel didn't want to take any chances. "What could they transmogrify if they had the scroll?"

"Well," considered Wes, "the Sobekites were reptile worshippers of the Temple of Sobek. With the power to transform creatures into …well, into another form of creature – with the ability to 'see that which is shrouded in shadow' – a form of second-sight. Without inspecting the Amulet I can't be sure, but it would likely appear in the form of a reptilian/demon hybrid."

"Like a big, mutant-ninja snake monster?" Riley offered bluntly.

"You've seen it?" Angel inquired in an anxious tone.

"We were outside – fixing the door back on – when we were attacked by something that looked a lot like what you just said."

That had to be more than a coincidence.

"You stopped it, right?" Angel said to Riley.

"No. It almost had Dawn, but …I dunno …it just took off before I could do anything."

"Dawn was pretty scared," said Tara. "We all were."

"I'm alright," Dawn assured them. She didn't look it.

"I tried catching up to it," admitted Finn, "but it was too fast. We were trying to find out what happened to Buffy and the others, until that happened. We've been pretty crazed with the research since then."

Wesley offered some new information: "Whoever called forth the spawn of Sobek must have been extraordinarily powerful!"

"The mystery blonde?" Tara thought aloud.

Angel frowned. "Mystery blonde?"

Riley took the opportunity to prove he was up to date on events in his girlfriend's work. "Buffy said she was, like, a super-strong demon-chick."

"She and this 'Glorificus' may be one in the same," Wesley theorised.

"We need to change research," Angel decided. "Find out what the mystery blonde is and why her people tried to take Dawn."

"What about Buffy?" Riley opposed.

"And Willow …and the others?" added Tara.

Wesley approached them. "We can't help them if we're dead. Until we know how to defend against this demon-woman's attacks, she has the advantage."

Angel set the team their tasks: "Wesley – help them find out what you can about this 'box'. Where it could have taken Buffy and the others. I'll see if I can find Giles' notes. They should tell us everything there is to know about 'Glorificus'."

Tara checked on Dawn before returning to the books on the table. She sat down and began to move some aside and pull others out from the bottom of the pile.

Wesley joined her at the Scoobies' round table and helped her to find the relevant volumes.

As always when nervous, Tara stammered: "Most of these references are n-nonsense. …Myth. It's hard to find any r-real truth in any of them."

Wesley took that as a fair challenge and set about reading. "Well, let's see if we can't separate the wheat from the chaff, then, shall we?"

Tara stared at the relative stranger for a moment with a quizzical frown. "…Right," she said, putting his oddness down to being British, and began to re-search the research she'd already researched with little result.

Angel started his own search in the training room and spent almost an hour looking for Giles' diary before moving back into the shop.

He was feeling under the worktop behind the counter looking for any secret Watcher compartments; somewhere Giles might keep the notes he always wrote, when Riley approached him awkwardly. "There's something else," the man said to Angel. "It's Joyce…Mrs Summers. She went in for a …a CAT scan yesterday. …They…" He wasn't sure how best to say it. Wasn't even sure if Angel had the ability to care. "They found a tumour."

For a mere instant, Riley saw a flash of something cross Angel's dark eyes. Something that had looked remarkably like sorrow.

"They're waiting to find out if it's operable. She's at the hospital now. She's not doing too well, though. Especially with Buffy…missing. It's not helping her condition." Riley leant on the counter, finally giving in a little to the exhaustion he felt. Even his eyes ached. Closing them, he applied a soothing degree of pressure to them with his fingers.

Everything was a mess. Buffy was … gone. Even if she wasn't, he knew things weren't right. But she _was_ gone. And the past few days he'd been trying to take on her patrols as well as look after Dawn, which was getting real hard since her mom took a turn. He was even trying to be carer to Joyce. Forced to adopt the roles of Slayer, sister and daughter so suddenly …It was just too damn much to juggle. He was totally unprepared for it. Such responsibility was beyond his ability to manage, and all the while …all he wanted to do was …try to handle loosing his girl. And the frustration he felt at allowing her to get lost. Not doing something to…

Well. It was just too late.

Now the feeling that ate away at his insides was one of abandonment. He felt so alone. And, since the strongest part of him had disappeared, he realised he felt …So terribly frail. The thing that hurt him most of all, however. The thing that _really_ stabbed at his heart. …Was that Buffy might be in pain somewhere. And he couldn't reach her. With all these thoughts and pressures, he simply could no longer think straight. His mind was a big, blurry mush.

"Truth is," he said to Angel quietly after a long silence, "I don't know what the hell to do."

Riley opened his eyes then and looked right at Angel. He was surprised to see the vampire wore an expression of intense seriousness. "I admit defeat. Thought you'd be happy."

"Not really," Angel replied simply. He could see that Riley looked distraught. The man clearly loved Buffy. In some human way that maybe even Angel couldn't hope to touch. The stress Finn wore traced deep lines into a face not yet aged enough to bare them. The poor guy. He looked at the end of his tether, for Christ's sake. And wasn't it Angel's job to help people in that position? Even if it was Riley. Angel knew he didn't particularly like the guy but …he _was_ on the right team.

His fingers came across something, and a hidden drawer slipped out from the counter. Bingo.

After a thoughtful pause with no further reaction from Angel, Riley went on to say: "I should really take Dawn to see her mom before visiting hours are over."

"This is insufferable!" Wesley groaned, dropping an old cloth-wrapped book onto the table.

"No luck?" Angel asked him while flicking through the small notebook he'd picked from the secret drawer.

"Oh, there's no end of exaggerated tales of the creation of the box. Apparently it was one of two that were created to hold the Spirit and the Mastery of some dark force that plagued the Old World. But there's no detail. No explanation of how the box might work, or why it would vanish into thin air with a roomful of people."

"Well, I've found Giles' notes," Angel reported. "…Here's something: 'recent research indicates that the glowing orb discovered by Buffy is the Dagon's Sphere; created to repel 'that which cannot be named' '. That's all there is. The last entry. Nothing about Glorificus."

"The Dagon sphere?" pondered Tara. "I think Giles keeps that in the basement."

Riley picked up the keys to the basement door. "I'll go see if I can find–" He stopped when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Well, if ya want somethin' done right, I guess ya really _do_ have to do it yourself."

It was a woman. Young, sexy and extremely beautiful. Her hair was blonde and hung in loose waves, and she wore a simple yet attractive red dress that showed off the flesh of her shoulders. "Mmm. Who's the tall, dark and handsome vampire?"

He glanced at the others to be sure she was talking to him. Then he remembered he was the only vampire in the room. "I'm Angel. And you are?"

"Wouldn't you just love to know, Angel-cakes?"

"I take it, then," Wesley surmised, "that you are 'Glorificus'."

"Have those scabs been yackin'? It's a good thing they're dead already or I'd rip their tongues out myself." Then her sudden anger subsided and she smiled confidently. "Minions. And the name's Glory."

Angel was about to address her when her face lit up with glee at the sight of Dawn. "There you are! My precious! Aren't you just the sweetest sugar in the jar? But where's the Slayer? I expected her to have at least _been_ here to protect the Key. Besides, I so owe her a bucketful of pain."

No one answered.

"Well, never mind. I'll just take the little princess and be on my way."

"Stay away from her," Angel warned.

"What do you want with the girl?" asked Wes, stepping alongside his boss to block her path.

"If you're just using her to get to the Slayer …then take me," Angel offered.

"Or me," Added Riley, damned if he'd let Angel come out the hero.

"My, how noble you gents are," she responded falsely. "But there's only one Key that fits my lock …so I'm just gonna have to take her."

Wesley remained defiant. "Then, Miss, you shall have _us_ to deal with."

"All of you?"

"All of us," Riley confirmed.

"It's a deal."

She moved like lightening. Before Angel knew what was happening, he found himself flying back and slamming hard into the staircase. His body hit the steps and skidded down to the ground.

Riley hooked her arms behind her back in a standard military restraining manoeuvre, giving Wesley the opportunity to hit her.

But he hesitated. She was a woman. Realising his mistake too late, Glory brought her leg up, sending Wes soaring past the table onto his back.

Finn tightened his grip to hold her still. Man, she was strong. But, when he felt the back of her head connect with his nose, the pain – like a thousand needles in his face – made him let go and stumble back. Glory turned and shoved him over the counter.

Angel, on his feet again, ran for her. He tackled Glory down to the floor, surprised to find himself being flung over onto his back. When he got back up he managed to catch her arm as she tried to back-hand him. But when her other fist cracked into his side, he realised she was not what she appeared. He doubled over and her knee in his face sent him into a rack of shelving.

Whilst the others kept the woman at bay, Tara crept over to Giles' 'miscellaneous goods' rack and picked up a small jar of Norvic firedust, along with some channelling stones and a pouch of Wiccan herbs and slipped back to the table with them.

Now that he was sure that she was not human, Wesley picked up the nearest axe and ran at Glory with it. She saw him coming before he'd even made the swing, and she caught the edge of the blade with her hand.

Wesley paused. She caught the blade! With her hand! No blood!

He felt the butt of the axe-handle smack him on the chin, and he dropped on his ass.

Glory chuckled to herself and turned the weapon around in her hands. This had been a little bit of fun – some stress relief – but now it was time to get what she came for. No more time for play-fighting.

Wesley saw her standing over him with the hatchet raised over her head and his breath caught in his throat.

Tara mixed the stones and the herbs in with the dust and tightened the lid back on the jar. She double-checked the ingredients in the Lexicon and turned to the page with the fire-barrier spell.

Angel wrapped his hand around Glory's wrist and she turned her attention from Wesley to him. So, he quickly spun with her – throwing her to the ground, back towards the door.

Glory slid to a stop, found her bearings and began to clamber back to her feet.

Wesley grabbed the axe she'd held over him.

"You're going to regret–" she began. But when she looked at them it was just in time to see the flying axe smash into her face. She fell back to the floor.

"That does it!" she threatened, getting up again without a scratch on her. No sooner had she brought herself to a standing position, when Riley lifted the till in both arms and threw it along the mustard carpet, taking her well-dressed feet from under her and she went down again.

The group readied themselves for another onslaught, and when Glory got to her feet this time, she was extremely pissed off.

"Okay. I'm _really_ getting bored now. When I'm done with you, you'll all be deader than last season's wardrobe! Though I see that most of you are still dressing for the nineties. And black," she said to Angel, "Is out." She rolled her eyes and started towards them. "SOo passé."

At the table, Tara sat with the Lexicon of Fire. She raised the small jar high, and sent it crashing to the floor where it smashed – the ingredients burning away to ash in a sudden and momentary burst of flame. "Dark Thane of Fire, hear my call, let nothing pass through the firewall!" she recited.

After a brief instant of confusion, a burning wall of translucent mystical fire formed around the group, separating them from Glory.

Unfazed, Glory approached the wall. "Wicked! A witch! That is so cool. I might just save you 'till last …and suck you dry."

Glory drew back her arm and smashed through the flame, breaking the spell easily.

Tara gasped, feeling the spell break as if it was one of her own bones. "Nulla mensa sine impensa!" she said firmly, re-establishing the barrier.

Again Glory broke through the firewall – coming for them.

Tara directed every part of her force and channelled it into her centre of power. "Nulla mensa sine impensa! Nulla mensa sine impensa! Nulla mensa sine impensa," she went on repeating.

Glory tried again to bring the wall down. And again, And again. Every time, with Tara's focused concentration, the barrier regenerated.

"You can't keep that up forever, you know!" Glory cried out. She seemed to grow increasingly agitated. "Sooner or later it's gonna wear you down! And when it does, I'm gonna be there to ram those dog-stinkin, cursed-reeking, Witch-Bitch, Hell-Sniffin, Ear-Aching words right down your God-damn, filthy, fleshy, dirty, Human THROAT!" She took a breath. "Now you've upset me. …But I could really go for some brain-food about now …so I'm going to leave …but when I return …I _won't_ be holding anything back. Understand? So, if you're smarter than you look, you'll give me the Key. And I wouldn't waste energy trying to run. I'd find you in a second." She turned on her heels and stormed out of the shop, disappearing into town.

When Tara felt certain it was safe to let the firewall drop, she stopped reciting the words and a sudden wave of dizziness hit. Her muscles went limp and she collapsed to the floor.

Riley rushed to help her up.

"I…don't think I'll be able to try that one again," she conceded.

"She was holding back?" Wesley asked in disbelief.

Tara sat back at the table, clearly fatigued from the spell. "I'm thinking she's no demon. But don't worry …I still have a few good spells up my sleeve."

"What about this 'Dagon sphere'?" Angel recalled.

Riley recovered the keys. "I'll go take a look in the basement."

Angel nodded. "I wanna be ready for her when she comes back."

Then he looked himself up and down. "Passé?"

* * *

(I wrote this chapter because I didn't want to ignore the consequences of this crossover. I decided to embrace them!

I return to the Star Trek universe in chapter 13)


	12. The HellGod Cometh

**- The Hell-God Cometh -**

_**12**_

"A witch?" Wesley proposed as he simultaneously read through a collection of ancient texts and rubbed at his recently bruised back.

"I…I didn't sense any dark magic from her," said Tara. "And…the way she broke my spell – like it was nothing to her – she wasn't a witch."

Wes gave it some more thought. "Are we certain she's not a demon?"

Angel loaded another corpse onto his shoulder. "Demons tend to be less attractive," he said, carrying the body away.

"Well, …A shape-shifting demon?"

"No," replied Angel as he came back to remove another corpse. "She was too strong."

"Some form of human/demon cross-breed?" the Englishman offered. He watched Angel carry the last of the demon bodies out of the shop through the side door behind the counter. "A vampire of some kind? She _did_ sense that you were a vampire, Angel. Without seeing your demon face."

"She's not a vampire," his voice echoed distantly from the alleyway.

A moment later, Angel returned and closed the door behind him. All the bodies were now stacked neatly beside a dumpster until such a time that Angel could properly dispose of them. He passed through the beaded curtain into the main shop floor. "She caught an axe-blade in her hand without being cut. You saw it yourself, Wesley."

"A…a human? Using powers?"

Tara raised a hand. "Again – no magic."

"She's something else," Angel stated. "Something with God-like strength."

"You don't suppose…" Wesley began, "…that perhaps… she _is_ a God?"

"No," Angel immediately dismissed. "Gods aren't corporeal beings. Besides, if she was a God, she could have killed us all with a thought. She wouldn't have had to fight."

"Yes, of course," Wesley acknowledged. "We _are_ beginning to clutch at straws."

"Yeah," agreed Angel. "No more guess-work, guys. Let's find the answers." He pointed to the books before making his way towards the basement to see where Riley had got to.

Wesley pondered absently for a few seconds before getting back to his reading.

Angel was almost to the door when Riley appeared from downstairs holding a small shining ball that looked remarkably like a light bulb.

"Here," he said, holding it before the vampire.

Angel gave it a quick inspection. "Sure that's it?"

"It's the only 'glowing orb' down there."

Wesley approached them carefully. There was still a little tension between them. "May I?"

Riley allowed him to take it over to the table where the failed Watcher began to research its purpose.

"But if it's designed to repel 'that which cannot be named'," Angel asked, "how do we know if it'll have any effect on Glory?"

"It's the only thing we have that can be linked to her," Tara said.

Riley nodded. "Buffy found it at the same site she encountered Glory."

"Then it's all we have," Angel sighed.

* * *

Black ash of Zanbaa, Salamite crystals, and dry baked earth from the mystical plains deep in the heart of the Serengeti. Tara had managed to find them all within the Magic Box, but there was still one ingredient that evaded her. And there was nowhere else to look.

"Err…Wesley?" she asked, disturbing the man from his work. "Would salamander eyes be a…safe substitute for eye of newt?"

"Honestly…I'm not sure," he said. "I haven't studied the Lexicon. Fire spells are relatively unfamiliar to me. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I…I'll work something out." Eyes were eyes, right? However you look at it.

She picked up the jar of salamander eyes and went back to work.

* * *

"Aah," Wesley sighed with revelation.

Angel quickly stepped over to him. "What does it do?" he asked eagerly.

"Oh, nothing new on the Dagon's sphere as yet," he replied. "But I have found a reference to a 'Book of Tarnas' in relation to the 'Key'. It's the only time in any of the texts that the 'Key' is mentioned."

"Do we have the book here?" asked Angel.

"Not here–"

"What about in L.A.? Call Cordelia–"

"We don't have it there either–"

"Are you sure? Just give her a ca–"

"Of course I'm sure, Angel."

The vampire stopped and nodded once.

"But if _anyone_ has it…" Wes began, "…it would be the Watcher's Council."

"So, call them."

"I'm not… they… I can't see them helping us, Angel."

"This is important, Wesley. You used to be one of them. Make them understand we _need_ the information. You have to try."

"Alright," he yielded. "I'll try."

Just as Wesley got to Giles' desk and held the telephone receiver to his ear, a woman's voice called to him from the other end of the line: "Hello?"

Needless to say he was quite surprised. "Um…he-hello there?"

"S'cuse me," the voice said again, and all heads spun to the door where a young blonde woman stood nervously. It wasn't Glory.

"A Vhlipschang Demon under the old memorial overpass told me I could find you guys here," she said in a witless, slightly simple-minded voice.

Wesley shook his head at his own foolishness and hung up the phone.

"Who's _she_?" asked Angel.

"I'm Harmony," she said.

"Harmony?" Riley considered.

"You know her?" Wes asked him.

Angel caught her scent. "She's a vampire."

"Didn't she used to date Spike?" said Tara.

Angel frowned. "Spike?"

Riley stepped forward. "Last time she showed her face, she tried to kill Buffy. Kidnapped Dawn as I recall."

Harmony spotted the young girl at the back of the shop. "Oh…yeah…about that…sorry. Nothing personal."

For all Angel knew, she could be after Dawn again – maybe for Glory. "What do you want?"

"Spike's gone," she blubbered. "I thought he'd left me at first, but all his things are still in the crypt. Even his home waxing treatments, and he never goes anywhere without them. …So I thought maybe the Slayer had gone and dusted him or something, so I asked around and I heard she'd disappeared, then I'm like 'Oh, my God!' – I couldn't believe it. You've gotta tell me the truth, I have to know…"

All 5 of them simply stared blankly at the over-bearing simpleton.

"…They ran away together, didn't they?"

Riley and Tara let out a guffaw while Angel and Wes felt a great weight of confusion descend upon them. Dawn didn't even react.

"Wait," Riley said, as past events replayed in his head. "Spike was _here_. When they disappeared; he was here."

"Spike's with Buffy?" asked Angel, somewhat flummoxed. That was great. Not only was Buffy in trouble, but she was in trouble with a maniacal vampire who'd like nothing better than to kill her.

Riley quickly tried to reassure him: "He's fairly harmless now, since he got a chip in his head. He can't directly harm anyone."

"Spike _is_ with Buffy?" Harmony whined. "I knew it! That two-timing creep. When I get hold of him, I'm really gonna do it this time. I'm gonna stake him _so_ bad–" Harmony's voice faded suddenly to a shrill cry as her whole body dried to dust before them.

The cloud settled to reveal Glory with a splintered board from the outside bench in her hand. She dropped the wood and rested her hands on her hips. "I believe She _did_ order the stake."

If she had looked beautiful before, she now looked unquestionably luscious. In the hour that she'd been gone, she had found the time to change into something a little more suited to the night. Her blonde locks were now tied up off the neck sensually, and the red dress had been replaced with a vinyl one in a deep shade of burgundy.

"Okay," she started. "I'm going to ask you once – nicely – and you're gonna want to think very carefully before you give me an answer. …Because I'm through playing." Folding her arms, she said forcefully: "Give me the Key."

The group came together.

Angel noted that Riley's hands were clenched in fists and Wesley had removed his spectacles. Tara, who was stood beside them at the table, gave him a nod. They were ready. Well, as ready as they could be. Angel turned his attention back to the mysterious Glory.

She held up her hands expectantly. "Well?"

"Go to Hell," he told her.

She smiled. "That's the plan."

No sooner had she started for them, when Tara pulled out 2 fistfuls of magical dirt and commanded: "Fiat incendium!" Her hands became engulfed by fire. "Pila!" she called as she threw her hands forward, releasing 2 searing balls of flame hurtling in Glory's direction.

Just as Tara had anticipated, the woman ducked the first fireball, which beat a hole through the front window and faded into the night. But the second had been angled downward. It caught Glory as she crouched from the first and knocked her back to the wall. Though, when she got up, her eyes as fiery as the flame that hit her, not even her clothes were charred.

All right, they were going to _need_ this guardian spell.

The group was stood within a large, thin circle of ash, with Glory still on the other side.

"Ignis flamma!" Tara decreed, and the fine ring of black ash began to rise into the air. It crackled like fire and, just as it was about to form an impenetrable barrier …It went 'poof'.

The ash was gone and the barrier was nowhere to be seen.

Salamander eyes! It was the damn Salamander eyes! If only she'd had the time to learn that teleportation spell.

"Oops," Glory said, mocking her. "Looks like the little firecracker blew a fuse." She let out an abrupt laugh and brought her hands together with a loud clap. "Now it's _my_ turn to get nasty." If there was one thing that Glory loved, it was killing, maiming and reeking havoc. Though, technically that was 3 things, she loved them equally and all at once. It had been a long time since she really let loose, and now that these earth-realmers had stirred a thirst within her that she'd all but forgotten, she was ready for some all-out violence.

Glory took the first substantial object she could find – the small, square display table near the entrance – and lifted it into the air with one hand. The brown tablecloth slid away, taking scrolls, idols, charms and other paraphernalia tumbling to the carpet. With one gentle movement, Glory sent the table flying across the room towards the witch.

The instant Tara realised she was directly in its path, she tried urgently to scramble clear of its descent. But the display surface hit the edge of the main table and bounced, veering to the side. Tara had moved right into its new path.

It came down hard onto the back of Tara's leg, twisting it in a direction it wasn't built to take and the startled sorceress fell precariously forward, clipping her skull on a bookshelf as she went. She hit the floor hard, and the pain that shot up her leg fell on dull nerves as the girl slipped away into unconsciousness.

The main table still rocked from the impact, and the Dagon's sphere shook free from its place amongst the research. It careered down the centre of an open book, off the table, and onto a chair where it fell to the ground and continued to roll toward Glory until it hit the step in the middle of the shop floor.

Glorificus stepped down from the carpeted section of the Magic Box and strode towards the men. Then she faltered. Struck inexplicably by some bizarre, drunken swagger, she tried to get at them again and failed.

"Wha…? …Wha's tha…? …Where…?" she mumbled through slack lips. She felt cramped – forced in where she shouldn't be, like she needed to get out – away. Just being in this place sickened her brain. But it wasn't right. She shouldn't be feeling this way. She should be tearing arms from sockets, not loosing it. They'd done something to her!

"What…_is_…that?" Her hands clawed at the scalp through her hair. "Like itchy fingers twitchin' in my brain." She shot a look at Angel, Wes and Riley that implied they were to blame for her 'illness'.

They backed away from her a little without even realising.

She then made another attempt to reach them, and almost fell on her face. Then she saw it. Just behind her and to the left. The Dagon's sphere!

There was nothing the 3 men could do as she brought her leg down and crushed it under her foot.

"There ya go!" she said, feeling suddenly better, and getting back to business. Like a wily fox prowling through the chicken coop, she came at them.

Angel moved into position and formed the first line of defence, executing phase one of their back-up plan: Wound her.

The soul-bearing vampire created the necessary distraction by giving her something to concentrate her attack on.

She made a swing for his head. Angel feinted instinctively to the right to avoid the blow and came back to block a second punch. It served to give Wesley the perfect opportunity to pull out and fire Giles' crossbow. It was a promising shot. Until it hit its target.

The arrow ricocheted off Glory's side to Angel's surprise. That was the back-up plan shot to hell.

Glory didn't miss a beat, taking the vampire's forearm and ripping it back until the bone shattered and pierced his flesh. Angel cried out as she flung him into one of the racks by the staircase. The shelf unit tipped as Angel fell, and it came crashing down onto his chest. But she didn't stop there, flipping the main table over and on top of the shelf - further crushing him. She'd save him 'till last. Once she'd made him watch.

Wesley moved around her and threw the crossbow. But she batted it away easily.

Thinking it the perfect chance, Riley tried to hit the bitch from behind.

When Riley attacked, she turned, shot out a hand and jabbed him in the throat – taking the breath from him and launching him across the shop. He impacted into the window, cracking it, and dropped back to earth, blacking out.

Wesley, meanwhile, was picking up the Lexicon and flicking quickly through the pages. When he found what he thought he was looking for, he began to recite Latin with serious intent in his voice: "Magister mundi sum! Monstra mihi pecunium, potestatem obscuri lateris nescis–" He shrieked as the book was sent flying from his hands.

Glory locked both hands on Wesley's head…

"Angel!" he pleaded desperately.

Angel tried to lift the shelving away from him, but the tear in his right arm and the weight of the table on top caused it to buckle and the rack came back down onto his chest with a crack. Still, he tried again in vane with his good arm to get loose.

Wesley was struggling hopelessly with the small hands that were clamped around his face as his feet rose from the carpet. Then, to Angel's horror, she snapped his head around with a heart-wrenching crunch.

"NO!" Angel watched, helpless, as Wesley's limp frame dropped to the floor and crumpled.

Time froze for the vampire in that one surreal instant.

He was lost.

Glory brushed the table and the rack to one side as if they were made of paper and yanked Angel up by the collar.

Angel felt something rise within himself, and he gave in to it – letting the demon side of his nature take him – causing his face to become a vampiric nightmare. With all his anger and ferocity, he snapped his head forward and butted her hard in the face, knocking her back. He felt his muscles wind up like tight springs and he unleashed a torrent of heavy blows upon her. He then cracked her head with a viscous punch and floored her with a high-kick.

The sudden burst of emotional energy left him drained, his arm burning with pain.

But she drew herself upright. Not a bruise on her.

"What … _are_ you?"

"You really wanna know?" she asked.

He barely noticed her growing closer to him.

"I am the rightful ruler of the dark realm of pain. I bring chaos and destruction to everything before me and I do it with style like nobody else. The little girl you're so adamant to protect is the Key to getting me back … and _nothing_ will stand in my way."

'_Ruler of a realm?_' he thought, sudden realisation slapping him in the face. '_She … she IS a God!_'

It came to him a moment too late as she reached him, drew back her fist, and punched a hole in his chest.

Angel felt Glory's grip tighten around his heart. His attempts to free himself met with steel opposition.

Riley came-to, got to his feet and whipped his telescopic baton out.

"Riley…" Angel managed through clenched teeth. "Get Dawn … out."

Glory squeezed harder and the vampire gasped. But he held onto her as tightly as he could.

Finn looked from Angel to Dawn, then made a move to get her and leave. But then he stopped and looked back at Angel. The vampire was as good as dead. If Riley and Dawn left now, Glory would likely rip out his heart and come after them. But Angel wasn't dead yet. And Riley owed him his life.

But who the hell cared about some vampire? Soul or no soul.

Buffy.

What would Buffy do? What would she want _him_ to do?

"Riley … GO!" Again, she squeezed his lifeless heart. Angel was in a world of pain he hadn't known since his time in the Hell dimension. Pain that burned hotter than the summer sun.

Glory, on the other hand, seemed quite content, if a little annoyed. "You're wasting your breath, vampire. There's nowhere they can run quick enough."

From nowhere, Riley came at her with his extended baton. She released Angel, caught Riley easily, hooked an arm around his throat and dug her fingers into his back – paralysing him on the spot.

Angel fell.

Riley gasped.

"I _told_ you; no more playing, soldier-boy," she teased.

Unable to move – pain shooting through his back, into his limbs and filling every part of him – Riley's joints locked into a disturbing pose. His body began to fit. Blood flowed in rivulets from his back, down his leg and onto the hard, dark floor. His contorted face conveyed the unbearable agony he felt.

Then, almost without effort, she buried her hands into Finn…

…And tore out his spine.

"Gotta love a guy with back-bone!" she said cheerfully as she let gravity take what was left of Riley from her hands.

His body flopped to the floor and caved in on itself.

Dawn fought back a frantic scream, and fear clawed at her insides as a rising nausea turned her stomach over and into a tight knot. She felt herself burning up; suddenly sweating madly with panic-driven dread. And then she knew. She was next.

Dawn bolted for the side door desperately, but Glory was already there.

Taking Dawn by the wrist, clawing and crying, Glory dragged the girl away from the shop, away from her protectors, and away from the world. Taking all hope with her.

* * *

A tired old pick-up sped out of the four-level interchange onto the Pasadena freeway and out of Los Angeles. At the wheel, Gunn steered between the slower vehicles with Cordelia at his side; re-dialling her employer's number frantically, the harrowing vision still stinging the back of her overwrought eyes. Neither of them could bring themselves to discuss the possibility that what she had seen could be true.

* * *

The sound of Angel's cell-phone rang on in some distant place beyond his awareness.

How long it had been ringing was anyone's guess.

It simply wasn't important.

Angel was left sprawled on the floor clutching at the gaping hole in his chest, failure and pain conflicting with his ineffectual need to act. To avenge.

Not ten feet away lay his dead friend…

"Oh, God, Wesley…"

And the Slayer's dead boyfriend.

Though he could feel his physical wounds already beginning to heal, his body wanted only to give in, and all other thoughts but one emptied from his mind.

With an unsteady, emotional ache in his voice, he closed his eyes and broke down.

"Buffy…"

* * *

(This chapter is a 'what if?' within a 'what if?'. I'm sure that, by the end of the story, you will understand why this chapter was necessary. (Though most of you probably get it already.)


	13. A Call To Arms

(I picture Admiral Wheeler as Ed Harris ( He played the guy behind the Truman show in the film, was in The Abyss and History of Violence)

* * *

**- A Call-To-Arms -**

_**13**_

Starbase McClintock hung gracefully over the planet of Nari-Vair resembling a colossal man-made mushroom. Similar in design to the Spacedock in Earth's orbit, though it was only two thirds of the size and lacked one of its two mushroom 'head' sections. Deep inside the structure, in the command centre, approach control took the helm from the Rutherford's Conn officer, guiding her through the huge spacedoors and into the heart of the structure on aft thrusters only. The sleek form of the Rutherford slipped through the hollow interior, passing vessels old and new, and was steered automatically to the station's central column where it slowed to a crawl and parked alongside the hulk of the larger Enterprise.

"Looks like we're the last guests to arrive at the party," Lieutenant Commander Danil Oom observed from Ops as he powered down the ship's computer systems.

Within minutes of docking, once the long pressurised gangway had been securely locked in place, her crew had been granted a brief shore leave. But her captain had been less fortunate, as he was called immediately to the admiral's private meeting room.

* * *

Starbase McClintock was the third largest port-of-call within Federation space, and saw more traffic than any other starbase that was within a week's travelling distance. Consequently, the admiral in command of that station was the official spokesperson for Starfleet and the UFP this side of the Alpha quadrant. Therefore, it was with a sense of trepidation that Freeman now moved through the station. First by transporter – directly to the pad nearest the admiral's office – then by express turbolift, and now walking briskly along the corridors.

Something BIG was going on. Something to do with Earth, no doubt. Something worrying. Something so worrying it had Starfleet in a flap, scrambling to action. Freeman knew that once he'd got all the details and was given his orders, he'd be back in his element. But this ...the waiting to find out what the deal was ...the nervous tension that was building up in his gut. It was more than he could tolerate. And this feeling had been gradually intensifying since the admiral's call over 2 hours ago.

* * *

Freeman came to a slight bend in the sparse corridor that led him into a small area decorated in utter contrast to the sections of the Starbase he had seen previously. In a room more in the style of a starship captain's office, a young woman in unofficial uniform – the admiral's personal clerk – sat behind a mahogany desk with computer panels built expertly into the wood surface.

The second she saw him, the admiral's clerk indicated ahead and told him to go on in.

Inclining his head in thanks as he passed her, Dave entered through the two large doors as they parted for him. Each bore one half of the Starfleet insignia frosted into glass. He found within, sat around the far side of a large antique conference table, two balding men whom he recognised and one bespectacled man he didn't.

The private office was even larger than the bridge of his own ship, and was decorated in subtle shades of beige, with a wood panelling running the circumference of the oval-shaped room from floor to waist height. Other than the top-notch conference table and the over-luxurious desk, the focal point of the room was, without a doubt, the row of eight floor-to-ceiling windows that opened the office up to an incredible view of the docking bay area. Work-bees and EVA pods – even men in suits – flashed across the scene, all hard at work on the massive vessel that sat directly under the windows. The U.S.S. Enterprise.

Admiral Wheeler approached him with his usual air of confidence. The man was probably much younger than he appeared and, although the dome of his head was thinned to near baldness, the horseshoe of hair that ran from ear to ear was still a delicate shade of blond.

Wheeler shook Freeman's hand firmly and spoke with the speed of a confident man with little time and much authority. He was clearly used to talking. "Welcome, Captain. Sorry for the terseness of your visit, but this is rather critical. You're late, by the way. I was expecting you half an hour ago. Needless to say we saw fit to begin the meeting without you." He handed Dave a PADD. "Picard's report," he said. "I suggest you read it at your earliest convenience. May I ask what kept you?"

"It's all in my report, Admiral," Freeman replied and handed Wheeler a PADD of his own.

"Excellent," his superior said, and discarded Freeman's report PADD nonchalantly onto his desk. "Captain Dave Freeman – Captain Jean-Luc Picard. I'm sure you are aware of each other. This is Mr. Rupert Giles."

Freeman and Giles acknowledge each other.

The admiral went on: "He is a civilian who, if I am to understand the situation correctly, is one of a group of six individuals from Earth of the year two-thousand of an alternate reality – brought to _our_ universe through a cross-dimensional temporal vortex by a force of pure evil hell-bent on destroying our entire universe," he reeled off without even becoming out of breath. "It's all in the report." Wheeler observed Captain Freeman's expression of bemusement. "And, yes, I _am_ serious. Mr. Giles, please explain the situation with Lieutenant Commander Data, if you will."

"Um...certainly, Admiral," the tweed-clad man – Rupert Giles – said with a distinctly vintage English accent. "Commander Data ... you are familiar with him, I presume?"

"I...know of him," Freeman confirmed.

"Well, he...he was possessed by an ancient, possibly ageless, entity that–"

"Wait a second," Freeman interrupted. "Just...wait a second. I'm having a little trouble...taking all this in."

"It'll pass," said Wheeler, nodding to Giles to go on.

"Alright..." Giles coughed into his hand before continuing: "Data's body, or his 'mind' at least, is home to a powerful being. A force of evil born in a universe occupied by all manner of supernatural beings. This evil – 'Darkness' – as it is called, has control of Data and is able to access his knowledge to serve its own purpose. It also has the ability to command the souls of any mortal creature it causes the death of. Not to mention demons."

"Demons?" The captain of the Rutherford breathed a heavy sigh and scratched at the edge of his beard.

A Work-bee passed down outside the windows carrying a replacement hull plate in its tractor beam and began to lower it into a cleaned-out hole in the Enterprise' saucer.

"Okay." Freeman held his hands up in a sign of defeat. "Can I just ask... does this have anything to do with the blockade around Earth?"

"Yes," Giles responded. "In _my_ world there is a gateway that opens to Hell. It is my belief that Darkness will attempt to destroy all existence by opening this 'Hellmouth' in every reality. ...He _must_ be stopped."

"Which is why we're here," the admiral verified. "We need to locate him. Find his route and intercept him before he can reach the Sol system. He's in an old Bird of Prey, so it won't be a problem beating his speed. As for where he is now – that's the vital piece of information we _don't_ have."

"Where was he last seen?" Dave enquired.

Picard spoke for the first time since Freeman's arrival: "His last known whereabouts were on the science station orbiting Sal Fusia-Six this morning. He... killed the entire crew and apparently took all of the station's shuttles with him. Unfortunately he had moved on by the time we arrived at the scene."

"That reminds me, Admiral," Freeman recalled. "We passed there on our way here. But... the station's location-beacon didn't seem to appear on our sensors."

Wheeler remained stone-faced. "Yes. It wouldn't. Would it, Captain?" he said to Picard. "You'll be explaining that to a legal panel later, assuming all goes well."

There was an uncomfortable moment of quiet before Captain Freeman remembered more details. "It wasn't just the Sal Fusian outpost, Admiral. We encountered numerous stations that appeared to be crippled on our way here."

Picard shot up from his seat. "Were any of their shuttlecraft missing?"

"We didn't stop to investigate. The admiral gave us explicit instructions to come 'without delay'."

"Quite right," Wheeler agreed.

"How far does this trail lead?" enquired Giles.

"All the way back to the illegal Ferengi trading-ship we were investigating on the edge of the Bazari Territory. Between there and the Sal Fusia system."

Now the admiral drew himself to a standing position. "What can you tell us about the trader-ship?"

"The Ferengi was missing, presumed dead. The damage to the vessel _was_ consistent with a Klingon attack."

The captain of the Enterprise grew more intense. "Did his sensors register a Klingon Bird of Prey?"

"We couldn't access the computer," Freeman regretfully admitted. "There was a nine-billion line code locking the memory core. But... who the hell can write a code that long between the time the distress call went out and the time we got there?"

There was only one possible answer.

"Data," Picard resolved.

Rupert felt the situation was becoming more and more out of their control. "If he did attack all those outposts, he must have amassed quite an army by now."

"We compared the Ferengi's stock with his manifest and discovered some items were unaccounted for," Freeman reported. "Items that could form a specialised remote device. Like a ship-control band."

"Data's going on an away-mission," Picard deduced. He was leaving his ship without losing the ability to control it by remote.

"But where?" asked Wheeler.

"The Territory," Freeman decided. "If he's looking for technology that's less mainstream, it's the best place to go. Why else would he be so far off-course if he wants to get to Earth so badly?"

Picard realised his counterpart was correct. The fastest way to Earth from Sal Fusia was a straight line and the Territory was quite a detour from that path. "He must be intercepting Starfleet communications. He knows he can't get to Earth without being bombarded."

"And I'm guessing he'd rather keep Data's body intact," added Giles. "It's perfect for him. All that knowledge and, unlike a human host, Data's body will never decay under the force of his evil."

Freeman, though he wasn't sure why, was beginning to understand what was happening. "So, this Darkness is adapting to his new environment by fighting technology with technology?"

"It does make sense," said Giles.

Admiral Wheeler tried to bring focus to the meeting: "Alright. Data is clearly after dubious tech goods. Where else better than the Territory? Nowhere, it would seem. He knows we can stop him at Earth, so he wants something to get him safely to the site of the Hellmouth unstopped." He paused. "Weapons?"

Freeman shook his head right away. "If it's weapons he wants, he'd have taken the temporal-cascade warheads we found on the Ferengi vessel."

Not weapons? What else was there?

Anything they could come up with now would clearly be nothing more than speculation. And there was no time for that. Wheeler wanted action. "Both of you," he said to the two captains. "Follow Data to the Territory and stop him at all costs. We can't let him find whatever he's looking for. The unorthodox nature of Bazari goods may be even more dangerous than Data."

"But...Starfleet has no jurisdiction there," said Freeman. "Command wouldn't–"

The admiral jumped in: "Starfleet Command has granted me emergency powers to take whatever measures I see fit to secure the safety of the galaxy. I will entrust the specifics of the mission to the two of you. Needless to say that, whatever you decide to do, I authorise you to go in undercover. That means no transponder signals and no identity codes. It is imperative that you remain undetected. Now, the Klingons have sent us the technical schematics for the Bird of Prey he is using. Its top cruising speed is warp eight. You may exceed this as much as necessary to narrow the lead he has gained. You will depart as soon as repairs to the Enterprise are complete. Keep me informed at every step, gentlemen. Dismissed."

And with that, the meeting was over.

But Captain Freeman was not quite content. "Admiral, we may need a representative of Mr. Giles' team on the Rutherford to help us with some of the demon-lore."

They looked to Giles. "Um..." There was no possible way _he_ could do it. He and Willow were far too busy with trying to find a spell-related solution. Buffy wouldn't be able to go – he needed her close to guide her. And Spike? Well... no chance.

"There _is_ someone," he said at last. "Though he wouldn't go alone."

Freeman understood. "It wouldn't be fair to ask him to."

Now that was settled, the admiral concluded: "One more thing, gentlemen. Should you be discovered or, heaven forbid, captured within the Territory, then 'officially' Starfleet Command will disavow any knowledge of your actions."

Giles resisted the urge to make the comparison with 'Mission: Impossible' out loud. And just as they were about to embark on an impossible mission of their own. That was surely a bad omen.

Giles followed as they made their way out of the office.

"Picard," Wheeler said to the captain as he walked with Freeman and Giles to the exit. "A word, please."

Picard held back until the doors shut and he was alone with his superior.

Wheeler stepped up close to Picard; his voice had a sinister undertone. "I'm fully aware of Data's importance within Starfleet. And I understand also that he is more than a mere automaton. That, in fact, you and he are friends..."

"He is not simply a friend, Admiral. He is ... family."

"Yes. I remember the feeling. I served on the _Redoubt_ for eighteen years before I took my current position, and on many other ships before that. As a captain, I myself had to make many hard decisions, and some of those had to take priority over friendships. ...My point being; our loyalties – _your_ loyalties – are to the Federation and the protection of its united members above all else."

"What are you inferring, Admiral?"

"Picard. The simple fact of the matter is ... This isn't the first time that Data has been a bother now, is it? ...On a number of occasions in the past, Data – through no fault of his own, I might add – has jeopardised the safety of the Enterprise, her crew and the Federation itself. And it is my duty to inform you, Captain, that I have been granted the license by the President himself to authorise his termination should such a situation arise that would deem it necessary. I trust that you understand."

Picard took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding in affirmation. Yes. He understood all too well.

"Jean-Luc, I know that you will try everything within your power to avoid that scenario. And you have my full support to do so. I don't wish to see Data terminated any more than you. But if it comes down to a choice between his life and the lives of all of us ... I must know that you're able to make that choice. Otherwise I would have to assign this mission to someone who can."

"If it comes to that, Admiral."

That had been a reluctant 'I can do it'.

Picard began to leave.

"And, Captain. ...I do hope it won't come to that."

He turned back to the admiral and nodded his appreciation. If there was any other way he would find it.

The doors closed behind the captain, leaving Wheeler alone.

"God speed."

* * *

Deep in one of the farthest corners of the orbital facility, along a sterile white corridor, two security officers stood guard over a single secured doorway.

The three 'guests' inside were kept secure only for the purpose of limiting their exposure to this future. The argument being that, even though they were not from the past of this timeline, it was entirely possible that in their own universe the events that lead to the formation of the United Federation of Planets and to Starfleet and the technologies of this reality could still occur. Meaning, of course, that if they were to return home and 'invent' the phaser, then Starfleet would have been responsible for aiding the alteration of the destined evolution of an entire dimension. Quite unacceptable. Admiral Wheeler, being as strict as he was, had enforced this regulation to its full extent. Small room, simple furnishings and no windows. Short of bars, it was practically a prison.

Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg sat together in near silence; eyes gazing absently to the floor. The cold, sterile walls had apparently lost their appeal. Buffy had already spent what seemed to her like hours digging tiny splinters from her fingers with her nails as Willow had eased her own anxiety by chatting away with the counsellor who had been assigned to them; Deanna Troi.

Now they were waiting.

It was hard for them to tell when, without a clock about the place, but a short while ago two more guards had entered, taking Xander and Anya away with them. It had been most unusual.

"Maybe they're splitting us all up," Willow had said quietly, "to do weird experiments on us one by one until we all have squiggly little bugs in our brains. Then they make us do creepy things like...like... juggling with our feet or something." She'd rolled her eyes at herself and given up at that. The counsellor had been quick to put them at ease, yet it was clear she was as uninformed as they were.

William the Bloody, a.k.a Spike, who was sat alone opposite the girls, had snorted and said: "Take it from someone who's _been_ on the sharp end of a scalpel; these mad scientists aren't in the habit of keepin' the test subjects comfy before a session of brain-slicin'."

Since then it had been fairly quiet. Willow mumbled from time to time, mentioning ideas she and Giles were exploring. Spike kept looking at his blackened nails and picking at them. To Buffy, he had looked remarkably like a small boy awaiting a stiff punishment from the school principal.

But now they were in silence.

Willow was deep in thought. Spike, seeing as it was approaching late afternoon, had finally succumbed to sleep. And Buffy began searching her hands for any splinters she'd missed the first twenty times.

They jumped as the door slid open. One guard entered followed by Xander, Anya and another guard.

"Hey, guys," Xander said with a hint of woe. He looked a little rough. Anya held onto him tightly – more so than normal. In fact, they both seemed...scared? Or uncomfortable at the least.

"Whassup?" Willow asked him, picking up on the strange vibe.

Xander shuffled nervously. "We just had a meeting with Giles and…the captain guy."

"Captain Picard," Deanna offered.

"Right. Captain Picard," Xander put right, again with an awkward despondency.

Buffy didn't much like the bleakness that had come over the room. "Is everything okay?"

Xander shrugged. "Yeah. I guess. It's just... this other ship... the _Rubbertub_–"

"Rutherford?" Troi again offered, before answering a call from her communicator.

"Yeah, they asked for a rep – one of us – to help them with the demon stuff."

"They picked Xander," Anya said with nervous enthusiasm.

"So we'll be going with them soon," Xander continued. "Just thought we'd say 'bye'. In case we don't get to hang for a while."

"_What_?" Buffy couldn't believe they were being split up. Especially in SPACE! There was so much room to get lost.

"They can't _do_ that," denounced Willow, turning to the Counsellor. "Can they _do_ that?"

Deanna grimaced a little as she nodded back. "I'm afraid so."

Spike chuckled to himself.

That confirmation only served to defeat any hope Xander had of getting out of going. It showed quite clearly on his saddened face. Willow went over to him and offered a comforting hug.

Once their embrace was over, Buffy, who also saw that Xander's face had taken on a stricken greyness, voiced her concern: "Are you gonna be alright?"

He put on a brave face. "I hear they have a pool tournament over there this time of year, so we might sign up for the distraction." He dropped his eyes from her as he said: "But it's gonna be tough... without you guys."

"Boo-hoo," Spike scoffed. Every one of the mortals gave him a cold, hard stare. Realising he was being insensitive, Spike rolled his eyes and approached Xander with a hand held out to him. "Miss you already, old chum. Be sure and write us, 'kay?"

"Go stake yourself, Spike."

"Coulda done that a long time ago if ya hadn't a' stopped me," the vamp said as he went back to his seat.

"My mistake."

"Who was on the other end of your badge?" Buffy asked of Troi.

"That was Captain Picard," she said. "Someone will be here shortly to escort us to the transporter room. Repairs to the Enterprise are almost complete."

"Transporters?" The very word made Xander break out in a cold sweat. "If it's all the same...isn't there any other way onto the ship?"

"You could take the gangway again if you'd prefer," said Troi with a slight smile.

_Not again_, he thought. They'd been told that ordinarily the elevators could link directly from ship to station, but that level of docking had not occurred due to damage. And the walk through the gangway had been unbelievable. "It was a little shaky. There was swaying–"

"And it was way too far," Anya butted in. "My legs still ache from the trip over here."

"There is one other way," Deanna said. "You could catch a ride in a transport pod."

She was met with a number of fuddled expressions.

"It's like a... a flying turbolift," she explained. "It will fly you from an airlock in the starbase directly to the Rutherford."

Anya considered briefly and nodded. Sounded good enough.

Xander looked from Troi to Anya, then at the others and back to Troi.

"Is it ... safe?"

* * *

Commander Riker arrived for them, and soon the group moved through the station to the docking transporters. Three of the station's security officers led the way for the Scoobies who had been told that Giles was already on the Enterprise with Captain Picard. Troi and Riker took the rear.

Anya released her hold on Xander when he excused himself and pushed to the front of the group alongside Buffy and Willow. "Did they tell you anything yet?"

"No," said Buffy. "I'm starting to feel like a bump on the log."

"Have _you_ heard anything?" Willow asked him.

"Yeah. I heard _something_. I know Captain Placard's gonna be holding a briefing in a couple of hours. I think we're going after Data...Darkness, I mean."

"_Finally_," Buffy sighed in relief. "Another hour of just...waiting...and I'd be finding my own spaceship to go after him."

Willow sighed as well. Only it was not with relief. "I just hope we're ready."

Riker spotted the young woman named Anya, now walking alone.

"Hi there," he said as he slipped in next to her. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of talking with all the excitement that's been–"

Anya thought she could take this opportunity to divert Riker's unwanted attentions away from her. "Willow's a lesbian," she said abruptly. "A _gay_ lesbian. With girls."

Her sudden and unexpected outburst, though quiet, took Riker by complete surprise. For a long moment he was taken aback. Willow was walking just a few metres ahead of them and the commander eyed her with a deep frown.

Anya waited. Men seemed to have some strange lust for gay women. Probably something about wanting what they couldn't have. And the mental image of them having sex, of course.

Sure enough, Riker raised an eyebrow and a smile crept to the corner of his mouth. "Really?"

Anya allowed herself a smile too, in honour of her own ingenuity.

That had been too easy.

* * *

The group continued on for a few more metres.

Riker called a halt as they reached a crossroads in the corridor. "This is where we break off," he said, moving forward to address them all. "Those transferring to the Rutherford," he instructed, holding an arm out to his right, "follow Lieutenant Beaumont to shuttle docking level two... _that_ way. The rest of you," he continued, heading straight across the junction, "with me."

"I'll go along with them to the travel pod," Troi called to him.

He stopped and turned. "The Enterprise is almost ready to go, Deanna."

"It won't take a moment. I'll be there in plenty of time before departure."

He took a moment to examine her face – one he knew better than any other – and saw what she wanted. As a counsellor, she saw in people things that no one else was trained to. And it was apparent that she was needed by Anya and the boy more than by the rest of the 'Spooky Group'. "Understood, Counsellor. See you on the bridge," he said simply, and briskly moved on.

Willow and Buffy gave their friends a heartening smile before following after Riker.

* * *

Riker, Buffy and Willow, Spike, and 2 security men approached the transporter platform.

Spike trailed behind his companions with the 2 guards. "Don't suppose either 'o you fellas know anybody who could lend us a smoke?"

Willow was telling Buffy the latest news: "Giles thinks that if we can somehow draw the Darkness from Data's body, it could be more susceptible to a general binding spell."

"What about its power? This 'Mastery' it has? Won't it still be able to control its 'Evil Dead' rejects?"

"Well, okay, _two_ binding spells. There are binding spells designed to block demonic power as well as demonic spirits. You get the general idea, though?"

"Generally," Buffy concurred. "But these spells... they'll be pretty basic, right?"

"Basically."

"So... what if they don't bind? Or even pinch, for that matter?"

Will cringed. "We...haven't got to that scenario yet."

"Oh."

"But we _will_," assured the witch.

"Uh-huh." Buffy smiled. A rarity for her these days.

They stepped onto the transporter pad and almost immediately faded away, leaving the 2 guards on the station...

...And materialised again on the Enterprise.

Buffy continued through the fizzle of the dissipating transporter effect: "And how're you planning on exorcising a force of unbreakable evil out of Data?"

"We...we..."

"Haven't got to that yet?" Buffy finished.

Willow made an exaggerated sad face. That would be _no_, then.

"Hold on for a second, ladies," Riker requested as the girls made for the door. It would seem they were getting used to the layout of the ship if they were confident enough to lead the way to the bridge.

Spike, displeased at being ignored completely, huffed and said: "I vote we mutiny and take control of this damn ship ourselves." He nodded toward Riker. "We could beam _him _into space for a start."

Buffy and Willow looked at him.

"Shut up, Spike," ordered the Slayer.

Then Spike voted with his feet and walked out of the room and off to his quarters.

Riker stopped to tell Chief Warren that Troi would be following them momentarily. As he talked, however, his gaze seemed to linger towards the girls.

Buffy hinted at Riker as she whispered to Willow: "Check _him_ out, checking you out."

"Me? I'm sure he's looking at you."

"No way. He's got Willow-lust in his eyes."

"Stop it. I might start to blush. Besides, I don't go that way anymore."

"C'mon, Will. You can't have turned _completely_ the other way?"

She paused, unsure how to respond to that. "Here lies a one-way street. And I've got my gal. Anyway; 'The lady's not for turning'."

"Margaret Thatcher?"

"What?"

"You're quoting."

"Maybe."

Riker finished and they began to leave with him.

"So, why are you blushing?" Buffy whispered into Willow's ear.

"I am not!" she replied, touching a hand to her face for confirmation. "They obviously haven't fixed the environmental systems properly."

Buffy nodded with a smirk. "Obviously."

* * *

Before them stood a circular airlock with narrow portholes on either side. Through these, Anya and Xander saw the pod they were about to take.

It was attached to the wall they were now behind, and it was surprisingly small. Like a bathroom cubicle laid on its side. About 4 to 5 metres long it was, and maybe 3 high. Beyond it, berthed at the interior wall of the station, the mighty form of the Rutherford awaited them.

They were seeing the side of the ship. When they stepped right up to the thin window, the full length of it was visible. It was SO close! They could even see where the plates of the hull joined. Their view of the ship's bridge was obscured by the odd extension that projected back from the top of the saucer to a rectangular 'turret' sitting a good 290 metres to the rear of the vessel.

The design was quite different to that of the Enterprise. Xander had seen the models that were on display in Picard's observation lounge and assumed that all the ships would have the same basic design. But even the Rutherford's warp nacelles were pointing in a completely different direction. Down instead of up.

Xander's construction-lobe kicked in – the part of his brain he liked to think he used when he was at work – and he wondered then, seeing as the warp engines weren't attached to the main hull of the ship, just where was the Rutherford's engine-room?

Counsellor Troi approached them carefully. "I know you're both worried about what you might find over there."

"You mean it shows on my pastey-white face?" Xander gibed.

"Willow tells me that you work on a construction site," Deanna said in a conversational manner.

"...Yeah," he confirmed, slightly confused as to why it mattered.

"I'll bet you were nervous the first day you started?"

"Not really."

"You already knew the people working there?"

"No, I just kinda got to know people as I went along. You get used to people pretty quick when they're training you."

"Then why should this situation be any different?" Troi asked him. "It _is_ only temporary after all."

_Yeah, if we don't all get dead,_ Xander thought to himself.

The counsellor resumed: "Strange people, new surroundings. We've all been there. It can all become extremely disconcerting. If you let it. Try to think of all the interesting new people you'll meet. You'd be surprised at how much you can learn from each other. After all, would the Federation be as enlightened as it is today were it not for the versatility of its members? Over a hundred and fifty unique alien races. And, as for your friends, they'll never be far. Anytime you want to talk to them, the Enterprise is only a call away. You'll find a desk computer in the living area of your new quarters."

"We...don't actually know how to use those things," said Xander.

"The keyboards don't make any sense," Anya explained.

"Then I'll be sure to remind Willow to keep in touch," Troi reassured them.

"That'd be great," said Xander. "Thanks."

"This way, please." Lt. Beaumont indicated to the now open airlock.

Before she went, Anya said to Deanna: "Thank you, Counsellor, for those supportive and encouraging words. They were most reassuring."

Deanna almost laughed. She'd been trying for a more subtle approach. "I'm... pleased to hear it," she replied, realising she'd been caught out. "If either of you ever feel the need to talk to me as a counsellor, or just want to chat, I'm available anytime too."

Beaumont led the couple into the pod and Xander found it difficult to believe that they were now passing seamlessly from the starbase to the interior of the tiny travel ship they had seen through the window a moment before.

Deanna watched the airlock snap shut behind the couple, and she hoped that her words would soon penetrate Xander's wall of dread and self-depreciation. She waited long enough to see that the pod was underway, then she too departed for the transporter pad.

* * *

The pod seemed larger from the inside somehow.

As well as Anya, Xander and Beaumont there was a pilot at the controls to the front of the craft.

"This is exciting, Xander," Anya beamed, a little too eagerly. "Why aren't you excited? We're important now. We're representatives. They had the choice of six people and they picked you and me."

He didn't answer her.

"Well, _I'm_ excited," she declared. "Giles put our names forward because he knows we're the smart ones. Though, I _have_ been telling you that for months."

Xander looked down at her with pity in his eyes. "Is that what you think? Really? Or are you still trying to delude yourself?"

"What?"

"I managed to fool myself too. For about thirty seconds. You know why we're really here don't you?"

Anya frowned at his hostile attitude. "Xander, what's the matter with you?"

"Everyone else's busting their guts to find a way to fight the bad and the only thing we've managed to do so far is waste Picard's oxygen. They shipped us out because we're useless to the Enterprise. Simple as that."

Anya was shocked at first. "Wha...bu..." But then she dropped her gaze to the floor as the truth of the matter dawned on her. She pulled herself to Xander and held him tightly, looking out the windscreen of the pod at the giant ship as it grew closer. The unknown approached them slowly and it was more frightening than either of them could admit.

They travelled the rest of the way in silence.

Unwanted, unneeded, and alone.

At one point, the pilot asked if they'd like him to make a fly-by of the ship. The scenic route.

Xander replied with a terse: "No." The last thing he felt like doing was taking a pleasure cruise. His stomach was knotted and his heart was racing. He didn't know why the hell he was so anxious. The counsellor was probably right. But...

Part of him just felt as though...

As though they'd been kicked out of the Scooby Gang.

The pod drew itself up to the much larger vessel, spun around and backed into the seal of an airlock.

Once the doors opened and they were inside the ship, Beaumont handed them over to an ensign in security uniform. The young officer welcomed them politely.

They noticed immediately the tiny wrinkle-like ridges at the roof of his nose and the elaborate earring he wore.

"Please follow me," the ensign said before leading them through the corridors of the U.S.S. Rutherford.

It was a very different feeling being aboard this ship. The corridors were a touch narrower, the carpets were grey and blue here, and windows were more prominent than on the Enterprise. Plus there was a completely otherworldly atmosphere. It felt alien. In the same way a new home feels alien – like maybe you'll never feel comfortable there, though you know that eventually you will.

"I'll be escorting you to the bridge shortly," said the young man. "But the doctor has requested a study-sample of your cellular RNA, if you don't mind stopping at sickbay first, of course."

"We've already been through those tests," Anya remarked. "With the other doctor."

"Yes. She has Doctor Crusher's report. She just likes to verify these things herself. Doctor's prerogative, I guess." He smiled at them. "The captain sends his apologies, but the doctor is the one person onboard with the authority to undermine his own commands. For medical purposes anyway. Quite frankly I think she rather enjoys doing it." Then he turned to give them one last piece of advice: "By the way, she's Andorian. So...try not to get her mad."

Anya turned to Xander.

Xander turned to Anya.

They shared a worried look.

Soon they arrived at their destination. The sickbay too was vastly different here. It was set in a circular room with beds running much of the circumference of the wall and had a workstation situated in the centre.

Off to the left a double-door led into a side room. Through the window there, it appeared to be the doctor's office. A second door led off to the right to some other part of sickbay, perhaps.

Their attention was drawn back to the office door as a small, delicate looking person stepped through.

A woman walked toward them.

Xander felt sure his mouth was gaping. He'd never seen anyone like her. Her skin was of a glorious light blue hue, and her pure-white hair was tied up elegantly. The small woman, who was no taller than Buffy, had a pair of quirky little pointy antennae jutting oddly from either side of the crown of her head – sticking out of her hair. Her face – thin, and with an elegant beauty – bore an attractive pair of thin-framed black spectacles. She also wore what looked like a lab coat – some kind of uniform accessory – and when she spoke it was with a soft and angelic tone. "This won't take a moment," she said, holding out a device.

She was the doctor!

A brief examination later and they were back on the move, with their guide, in a turbolift to the bridge.

When the lift stopped and the doors opened, the young officer urged them out. "This is where you get off."

They left their escort behind and stepped through the doors awkwardly before they slid shut. When they caught sight of the bridge, Xander and Anya first noticed the step that led up to the extended section at the back. A flat circular table sat there, with some kind of radar display on its surface.

Freeman watched as the young couple stepped out of the turbolift doors together.

A kid of medium build, with a head of dark hair, wearing a mix of beige and white with a dark brown jacket. The girl, who was a head smaller, seemed to have brown hair with a strong colouring of blonde. She wore a similar, more feminine and body-hugging outfit of an off-white colour.

Xander and Anya scanned the strange new bridge to see what kind of crew they had been thrown in with. There were a number of people present, but most prominently were a greying man with a goatee, a brown-haired woman, and a man with dark speckles on his face. They occupied the centre of the room.

Freeman stepped forward. "Welcome to the bridge. I'm Dave Freeman; captain of the Rutherford." He first gave Xander a friendly shake of the hand, then Anya.

The captain appeared human. He had a full head of brown hair beginning to show the signs of greyness at the sides. It was parted at one side in a loose quiff. Anya found him to be quite an attractive man. In a rough kind of way.

"So, you'd be Xander Harris, our ambassador to the occult?" Dave asked heartily.

"Actually it's just Xander. And I'm not really an ambassador. Just a... a Xander."

The dark-haired woman spoke up: "You're the chosen representative of your people liasing with the crew of this ship, aren't you?"

Xander frowned. "I...I guess so."

"Then that makes you an ambassador," confirmed the captain.

The speckled man approached him then. "Welcome aboard, Ambassador." He took Xander's hand and shook it firmly.

This one was human looking, with blonde receding hair shaved almost to nothing. But he also had dark speckled markings at the sides of his head. They followed the recession of his hairline and came down in strips at the front of his ears and along the sides of his neck. He was not a young man, yet his face certainly did not reflect his years. He was a serious-looking type of guy.

Xander thought to himself: _Ambassador?_ _Wow_. '_Ambassador Harris_' ...He _really_ wished it had a ring to it.

"I must apologise for my doctor," Freeman expressed. "I'd rather she'd waited until you were settled before putting you under the microscope, but it seems she had nothing better to do. What can I say? She is the bane of my existence," he half-joked. "These are my joint-executive officers – Commanders Coren Vaun" – he indicated to the older man with the markings – "and Saskia Romani." The dark-haired woman.

She too was human looking. Young, fairly attractive with medium-length dark brown hair. Slim and curvaceous. If Xander were in Freeman's shoes he certainly wouldn't have complained.

"And _you_ are?" the captain asked of Xander's female companion.

"Anya," she replied. "I'm with _him_," she said, locking her arms around Xander's. "Just so you know."

_O…kay_

Chevva, the pilot, decided to introduce himself to the quirky twosome. Help them feel welcome. "Treva' Moziah Swift – pilot extraordinaire – at ya service," he said in a strong Jamaican accent. "But ya can jast cal me Chevva."

"Hi. Xander Harris," Xander responded, checking the new guy over.

Chevva was a tall and gangly dark-skinned kid. Couldn't have been more than 20. And, judging from his accent, was entirely human. Unless he was from the planet 'Caribbea'. His dark hair was woven into tight, braided strips that ran back and fastened in a short tail, and he radiated enthusiasm.

"Xander, man, if deez old folks 'ere get too borin' for ya," he said, pointing at the senior officers, "al be 'appy ta show yez de ropes."

When Xander saw that Chevva's superiors weren't taking his insult seriously he chuckled a little. "Thanks, man."

"We hear one of your group has superhuman strength," Freeman asked him with keen interest. He must have been gagging to find out more about the Scoobs.

"Is it true that one of you is a 'witch'?" Saskia asked.

Anya answered: "That's Willow. She's on the other spaceship. With everyone else."

The bridge crew noticed that their new guests were clearly nervous and overwhelmed. They didn't want to be there.

Freeman approached Anya. "And what might your speciality be?" he asked her.

"Demons. All kinds of demons. I have a friend, you see, who used to beone," she said. "A demon, that is," she added unnecessarily.

Freeman raised his brow and nodded. "That's ... nice."

"Very useful," Sass put in.

"So, either of you have...'powers'?" said Dave.

"Not anymore," Anya replied quickly. "Not that I ever did," she said even quicker.

"Me?" Xander said when they looked at him. "Err... not exactly. I…I usually just help out. Do research and stuff. Keep the guys focused. Get supplies–"

"He brings donuts," Anya cut in. "Sometimes coffee. Though there _was_ that one time he was Dracula's butt-monkey. And this other time he split in two. He's always getting into stuff like that."

Xander's face reddened. "Anya–"

"Like the time the ghost of a Chumash Indian gave him syphilis."

"ANYA!" Xander half-yelled through gritted teeth. He leaned in and whispered to her, though not as quietly as he'd have liked: "Could we _not_ mention my syphilis to the nice new people?" But he was already attracting the funny looks he had been dreading.

Sass decided to try to relieve Xander's embarrassment. "If it's any consolation, Ambassador," she said, pointing at the other commander, "Vaun here used to be a woman."

Cmdr. Vaun looked across at her with daggers in his eyes.

The dark-haired woman shrugged. "Well, it's true."

Xander yelped suddenly when he spotted the thing standing at one of the twin consoles behind the command seats. It was HUGE.

Tall and heavy-set, with thick white fur flowing in long sideburns that fell over its shoulders and also covered its clawed hands. There was even a hint of facial hair. The top of its head was bald, with a large cranium that was bumpy and ridged. The yellow style of uniform it wore had been clearly made to fit its unique figure.

_What the hell is he?_ he wondered.

Danil Oom, a young blond man at the front of the room, perked up: "Actually he is a she," he said, startling Xander. "Lieutenant Gataana; the chief of security. She's an Antican. The only one of her species in Starfleet, in fact. The females of her species are often larger than the males."

Xander's mouth dropped. _How did he know–?_

"Telepathy," Dan responded.

"He's a Vulcazoid," Saskia pointed out.

"I'm _not_ a Vulcazoid," said Danil firmly. "There's no such thing," he assured Xander and Anya. "I'm a Betazoid – like Counsellor Troi on the Enterprise."

_Oh, dear lord no!_ Xander screamed in his mind, remembering some of the thoughts he'd had when she had been around.

Dan seemed to pick up on his thoughts again, as he smiled. "As far as I'm aware, she's only _half_ Betazoid – an empath. She only senses emotions and feelings."

"She can't read my mind?"

"No."

_Oh, thank the lord!_ he thought.

Again, Dan smiled.

Xander realised then that he'd have to be careful around this guy. "But _you_ can tell what people are thinking?"

"Only if I want to. I don't usually scan people as a rule; it's rude. But sometimes thoughts... jump out at me. You're not a twenty-fourth century human. I'll have to teach you a few tricks to keeping your thoughts in your head."

Anya looked at the blond guy and puzzled. "If you're a Beltazoid wossit, how come you have those little elf ears?"

Dan sighed. _Here we go again_, he thought as he began to give the same explanation he'd given to almost everyone he ever met. "Both my parents are Betazoid, though my mother died just a few weeks into her pregnancy. An emergency operation took place in the corridor of a transport ship and I was immediately transferred from my mother's womb into the womb of a close family friend. A Vulcan female. There was a difficult period in which the doctors struggled to keep the Vulcan body from rejecting my foreign tissue, and I wasn't adapting well to the new environment. ...Until a test-drug designed to counteract infertility in certain interspecies relations was modified and prescribed. But it was an experimental treatment and there were... side effects. There were the obvious ear abnormalities, and cellular genetic fusion was diagnosed. Though it wasn't until I reached the time of Pon Far that the extent of the genetic crossover was realised. So I _do_ have Vulcan traits – on a genetic level, but I'm a Betazoid in my blood."

"Like _she_ said," Dave maintained, indicating to Saskia, "a Vulcazoid."

Dan gave up with a puff and went back to his post.

Xander eyed-up Commander Saskia Romani for a second time. She appeared human, but just beneath her straight brown hair he now saw there was the faintest hint of the same speckled markings that Cmdr. Vaun bore. She had quite a hot body. Nice breasts especially. And those light markings on her neck and face were pretty arousing. Xander wondered just how far down those markings went.

"All the way," came Dan's answer to his unasked question.

Xander tried hard not to think ANYTHING.

Captain Freeman announced to his crew: "We are about to embark on a mission of dire importance. You guys know I like to keep you all in the picture as much as possible, but this particular project has been classified Top Secret. Therefore, I'll be addressing all senior staff closer to our target. Let's try to keep the speculation down to a minimum until then."

Some of the crewmen grumbled at that, but all went back to work.

Dave stepped over to the new couple to talk to them. "Before this mission gets underway, I want to warn you... There are _no_ free rides on the Rutherford. You're here, so I expect you to do your share like everyone else. We work as a team or not at all."

They gave each other a panicked look.

"Don't worry," Dave said cheerfully, "that was my initiation speech. It's the only one I give and everyone of these guys have heard it." He gave Xander a pat on the back. "It's all downhill from here."

"Captain, the Enterprise has cleared her moorings and we have been granted clearance to depart," boomed Gataana in her resonant tone.

Freeman sighed heavy. It was time. The operation he and Picard had worked out was about to begin. "Follow her out, Chevva."

"Aye."

"Match their course and speed, and stay on their tail."

* * *

The gleaming saucer of the U.S.S. Enterprise rolled slowly out of the giant spacedoors of McClintock and soon she was clear of the opening, floating freely in open space. There she held her position until the Rutherford joined her.

A moment passed in the sheer quiet of the void...

Then both ships stretched across the blackness into the distortion of subspace and, in a flash, they shot to maximum warp.

* * *

Freeman slapped his badge. "Bridge to engineering."

A second later his call was answered and the captain said: "Hoop, when you get a minute, report to my quarters."

"Damn fine idea, Cap. I could use a drink," replied the voice on the other end.

Dave began to lead Xander away. "C'mon, Ambassador. There's a _lot_ we need to discuss."

He found himself herded into the turbolift and, once Commander Vaun and Danil had joined them, the captain called for their destination.

Xander managed to give Anya a brief and meaningful look before the doors snapped shut and the bridge disappeared.

"Wha-? Where?...Xander?" Anya looked from the lift to the female commander.

Sass smiled at her reassuringly and put a calming hand on her shoulder. "He'll be fine."

"Why didn't he let me go with Xander?"

"It's... a boys-only thing," she answered. "But don't worry, Anya. We'll have _our_ time when this mission's over. The boys think they know how to have fun... but we both know that girls invented the concept."

Anya didn't really understand the accepted concept of 'fun', but she did get the feeling Commander Romani was correct.

"Anyway," said Saskia, "Any idea where we're going?"

* * *

When Freeman, Xander, Danil and Vaun arrived at the captain's room, Xander was first asked to fill in some of the details that led to the destruction of the Sal Fusian science station.

He went into great lengths to explain the incident in full graphic 3D Technicolor as the captain, who insisted on being called Dave, had requested. Xander had just reached the part where everything started to turn sour when another man – Hoop – arrived.

This man looked about Freeman's age – maybe late thirties – and with a yellow polo-shirt, like Dan. He had the look of an ageing surfer, only with less of the tan, and his hair was light brown and cut fairly short. He was fairly normal looking compared to the others.

Freeman introduced him. "Xander Harris, this is my chief of engineering; Doc Hooper."

"Just call me Hoop," said the man in an Australian dialect. "Saves a hell of a lot of confusion. First day I ever set foot on a starship, back when I was a freckle-faced ensign, we realised there was gonna be a problem."

Xander didn't understand.

"See; every ship has its CMO – the doctor," Hoop explained. "And everybody calls the doc 'Doc'. My first name happens to be Doc. So it was never gonna work. I've been 'Hoop' ever since."

Xander's frown faded in realisation.

"So, what's _your_ story? Where'd 'Xander' come from?" the Aussie engineer asked him.

"It's short for Alexander."

"Damn. Never come across _that_ abbreviation before." Hoop then went straight for the liquor cabinet, as opposed to the replicator, and helped himself to a glass of the captain's single malt whisky.

As they were technically still on duty, Freeman said to him: "Just the one, I hope."

"One's all I need," Hoop agreed, and emptied the glass in one swift mouthful. "And I been needin' it since I heard someone mention 'Flesh-eating zombies from Hell'." He chuckled to himself. "What _is_ that? I mean; I've heard some mixed up rollocks in my time but... tell me... this is a joke, right? Xander? You guys are pullin' my plonker, aren't ya?"

Xander felt kind of sorry for these people. They had no idea. "I wish we were. Really," he replied. "Believe me, I've seen my share of mixed up...'rollocks' too, but these demon zombies ... they even give _me_ the screamin' meemies."

Hoop looked around the group for telltale sniggers. "Still sounds like a nineteen-fifties horror flick to me."

Xander went on to tell them the rest of the Sal Fusian incident, and soon they were all relaxing in the captain's lounge area as Xander told them of the Scoobies' various exploits. About his first encounter with vampires. Learning what Buffy was. Destroying the Mayor-turned-snake. Teaming up to defeat Adam. He had them roaring with laughter when he told them of his recent misadventure as Dracula's bug-eating pet.

"And my folks thought they were getting a bargain when they moved to Sunnydale. It's amazing how a Hellmouth can effect the price of housing in a small suburban community."

"This 'Hellmouth' you live on... how does it work?" Cmdr. Vaun asked.

Xander explained, as best he could, what it was. He told them how, on one occasion, it opened and they had to knuckle-up and fend off the forces of evil to close it up again. He referred to the time Buffy, Angel, Faith, Giles and Will battled with it in the old school library. It seemed like the perfect example of a spontaneous yawn from the Hellmouth. Though, he himself hadn't been with them on that occasion.

"You weren't there?" said Dave.

That question seemed to make Xander a little uncomfortable. "No. I... don't think I was feelin' too well that day."

"Not syphilis, I trust?" Danil joked. "Hey, don't worry about it. I caught the Denuvian plague once. And _that's_ deadlier than a De'lan housewife!" he said with a smile.

Hoop let out a guffaw. "I remember! Doc Sishna quarantined you for a month with only basic fluid rations to live on!"

The Rutherford men began to laugh.

Freeman added: "We had to wean you back onto solid food over a week just so you didn't get chronic stomach cramps!"

More laughter. Even Xander found it amusing.

"You could have done something about that, Dave," Dan grumbled.

"Even _I_ can't override the doctor's orders," the captain assured him.

But the young Vulcazoid wasn't convinced. "Still... there was no reason for me to be fed rations in quarantine. No logical reas–"

"Oh, shut up!" shouted the other Rutherford crewmembers.

The laughter had given Xander the urge to pee, so he asked to use the bathroom. Once he'd been told where it was, he shuffled off quickly.

Vaun and Hoop started chatting about the 'supernatural' but soon ended up reminiscing about the time they were almost ravished by Alterian hookers.

As soon as Xander was out of the room, Freeman slipped over to Dan and said quietly: "What do you make of him, Dan?"

"He lied to us earlier. When you asked him what he was doing while his friends saved the world. He was hiding something. He doesn't want us to know what he was really doing."

"Can't you read him?" Dave asked.

"I _could_. But I don't want to pry. It probably isn't even important."

"But other than that?"

"Other than that, he's honest. Seems like a nice guy. Kind of innocent – almost child-like – and a little insecure. But a descent human being. I like him."

Freeman didn't much like ambiguity in people. He preferred to know the people he worked with. Perhaps it was a character flaw, but he felt a need to understand people in order to trust them. He had to know how they think – to know how they'd react in any given situation. That was why he liked to keep his relationship with his crew less formal. More like they were all a bunch of pals on an adventure. He found it made a better team out of them.

Perhaps if he could get Harris to relax and feel more at ease with his assignment, then he would be more forthcoming.

Xander returned, wiping his damp hands on his Battlestar Galactica jacket. "I...couldn't find the towel."

The four officers chuckled.

"Y'know what we're missing?" Dave said with cheer. "Stogies!"

Hoop slapped his hands together. "Lord, strewth! Could it be Habana-time?"

"I reckon so, fellas," Dave confirmed.

The captain went over to a display stand in the corner of the room by the windows. Upon it sat an ornate wooden box.

Unlocking his humidor box, Freeman picked out his own favourite – a Cohiba robusto, and the same again for Hoop. For Dan and Vaun he took out their usual choice – Bolivar royal coronas. All 4 cigars were thick and around 5 inches long. Dave stopped. "You smoke cigars, Harris?"

Xander stammered: "I...well...no. That is, I've never... no." He was surprised by the question. He thought only grown-ups and cool people smoked those.

Freeman looked for an appropriate smoke for the beginner. Something a little milder and easier to manage. Making his choice, he picked out a small Punch petit coronation and closed the humidor up.

Xander watched in awe as the cigars were handed out. He gaped at the other men's big, fat cigars. Then looked at his own little one and felt somewhat less than adequate. "I got the impression people didn't smoke anymore," Xander mentioned.

Freeman handed the cutter around. "Cigarettes are no longer produced on Earth, though you still get those who choose to roll their own from tobacco grown on other worlds." He stopped to start his stogie with some sort of flameless lighter. "But Havana's are very much alive," he said.

Hoop continued: "And there's only _one_ place in the galaxy that can produce genuine Havana cigars – the Pinar del Rio region of Cuba. The only licensed place on Earth able to grow tobacco."

Xander let Hoop come over to cut and light his meagre 'stogie' for him. Then he put it to his lips awkwardly.

"Don't inhale," Freeman advised. "Just blow out the smoke and take in the flavour."

He did so. And coughed.

"So, Xander, you think you could handle a life in outer-space?" Hoop asked.

Xander smacked his lips together, trying to decide if he liked the taste of his cigar. "I used to think so. But being here's made me rethink a little. Space feels a lot safer when you're watchin' it on the TV. I don't know how you guys can stand to work out here. There's gotta be safer jobs on Earth."

"This ain't just a job for us," said Hoop. "But, to coin a cliché, it's _life_! An adventure! It's as much about finding yourself as it is about discovering new life and new civilisations."

"When I wanna find myself I usually just look in the mirror. Sure, it's not pretty, but it saves building a fleet of spaceships and trekkin' halfway across the galaxy."

The engineer laughed at that. "Y'know, kid, you got a point."

Freeman joined them. "I hear you came over in a travel pod," he said to Xander. "It's been too long since I last did that myself. So, what do you think to the ship? Amazing, isn't she? The views from a pod are breathtaking."

Xander grimaced. "That's not really why I used the pod. I…I don't like to beam," he revealed. "There's just something about having your bits scrambled that isn't right."

They sat and puffed on their stogies for several quiet minutes. Just a bunch of guys chilling out. Xander began to get the taste for his little Punch petit coronation.

Hooper still didn't understand the whole 'Hellmouth' concept, so the Australian broke the peaceful silence with a question. "What _is_ the Hellmouth? Some kind of subspace rift?"

"Like I said, It's a hole between our dimension and the Hell dimension." Xander explained again.

"But what's the scientific explanation? There's gotta be one," Hoop said with a slight laugh, as if he was stating the obvious.

Xander tried to put it another way: "Last year a bunch of government scientists tried to understand the demon world. And they tried to control it. But they didn't manage either and it killed them. These things ... they don't live in what you would call the 'real world'. They're a whole other level."

The chief engineer shook his head. "See, that's where I have a problem. Everything can be explained scientifically."

The lone Scoob sighed inwardly. "Well, if that's how most people in this universe feel... we're _all_ screwed."

Xander's cigar was almost half gone, and he tapped off the inch of ash that clung to the end of it. Taking another drag and letting it linger in his mouth a while, he suddenly remembered something and blew the smoke away. "What did Comman– err, Saskia, mean when she said you were a woman?"

Vaun coughed into his hand.

"Sex-changes are compulsory where he's from," Hoop lied.

Xander grimaced at that.

Vaun was quick to dismiss Hoop's words. "It's only half true. I'm a Trill. On my world there are two forms of intelligent life that can exist in a symbiotic relationship," he clarified. "There are the humanoid Trills – the man you see before you now – and a vermiform creature that lives within our bodies. Before I became a 'joined' Trill, my name was Coren Dagan. The symbiont I joined with was named Vaun and I became Coren Vaun."

"What's the point of that?" asked Xander.

"Physically I will live only one lifetime, whereas the Vaun symbiont will live for generations to come; carrying the memories of all previous hosts to the next one, and the next, and so forth. Effectively, when my body dies, I will live on in memory."

"Wow. So you have... like...other peoples' memories?"

"Three lifetimes. It's not just the memories though, Xander. It changes who you are. A part of those three hosts before me are within me now. Their feelings, opinions and a piece of their personality. It can be a difficult adjustment to make in the beginning."

"So, one of the other hosts was a woman?"

Vaun nodded. "Yes. The last host was a relief-freighter captain named Rena. A perfect example of the influence of a past life – she changed the course of _my_ life."

"She did?"

"Very much so. Since the first day I entered Starfleet I wanted nothing more than to have my own captaincy," he recalled fondly. "I had reached the rank of commander before I joined with the Vaun symbiont and, since that day, I've lost that dream. One that I was so determined to see realised. All because I remember the pain and stress it caused to Rena. It simply put me off the idea."

"When did you...join?" Xander asked.

"I joined quite late in my life. It is possible to select the symbiont you wish to join with, and ... I never knew my grandfather. Though I had heard so many tales of how he had been a great man in his time. I wanted so much to remember him as they did. So I requested his symbiont."

"But what if someone already had the…the symbiont?"

"They did. Rena. I can never explain the feeling of wanting something so badly, yet waiting for someone else to die before you can achieve that goal. It was the most difficult thing I have ever done."

Hoop's face was beginning to wrinkle in a sickened grimace. "I still think it's perverted, mate. Who the hell wants to remember their own father's conception?" He shook his head.

Dan piped up: "It's great to see again that we're living in a time of cultural tolerance."

Hooper turned to face him. "Some things just aren't right."

"It's a sacrifice I was willing to make if it meant I could know my own Grandfather."

"Say; let's _not_ get into this debate again, okay?" the captain said diplomatically.

The men sighed and sat back to finish their smokes once again in peace.

"Xander, I see you're growing a beard," Danil remarked.

"Yeah." _Finally! Someone noticed! _"I _was_. But it's starting to look more 'Alley-tramp' than the 'Manly hunk' I was going for."

"Nah. It just needs some shaping. A tidy."

"Really?"

"Sure. Beards are like women; they need training. Keeps them from getting irritating." He winked and rubbed his own thinly groomed blond beard. "I can give you some tips, if you like."

Xander grinned. So much for Commander Riker and his boring beard. "Excellent."

* * *

"It's not quite The Bronze," Buffy noted on entering Ten-Forward with Willow. There wasn't even a band playing. Or music, for that matter.

"You're not wrong there," Spike called as he came strolling over from the bar. "They don't even do spicy Buffalo wings!"

The two girls looked at each other with the same expression. It said: 'Does he think he's our friend or something?'

"Tell you what," Buffy said to him, "why don't you grab us a table – one by a window – and we'll be right over. Maybe we'll get lucky and fly by a star."

The vampire's face went from neutral to disparaged. "Oh, you're funny, Slayer. You should do stand-up. You're a regular George Carlin." Then he stooped so low as to pull a face at her.

Willow spotted what was in his hand and asked him: "What's that you're drinking?"

Spike eyed the tall glass. "This? Yeah, I don't know what it's meant to be..." He held it up and swirled the blue liquid within. "But it's got a kick on it like a bull with a bee up its arse."

As Spike was talking, Buffy's attention wandered about the room until it fell upon the far corner where a small group of rowdy Klingons were huddled, sniggering unashamedly at the three of them. Even as she looked at them, they bore their teeth at her, muttering and laughing to themselves. The important one named Worf was with them.

"Ignore them, Buffy," Willow begged her. "On the evolutionary scale... they probably rate somewhere between Australopithecus and Neanderthal. Cro-Magnon at a push. They're not worth the trouble."

But, Buffy had her mind set and Willow's words washed over her. "Order for me, 'kay? I'll just be a second."

Willow sighed. "Okay. Be careful."

The Slayer crossed the room purposefully until she reached the drink-wetted table of the Klingons. There she stopped and planted her hands firmly on her hips as she was often in the habit of doing. "There a problem?" she asked them in a way that forbade a response.

"Where is the whimpering male you associate with?" one of the fouler of the alien men asked her.

"He has fled in fear! Like a _BiHnuch Gagh_!" another replied on her behalf.

The Klingons roared with laughter.

Buffy, not at all impressed, waited for them to quieten. "You think Xander is afraid of you? Someone told me you people had thick skulls, but they didn't say anything about your over-inflated egos."

One of the group made to stand up and face her, but Worf stopped him with a wave of his hand.

Buffy stood firm.

"Your 'friend'," said Worf, "insulted me and insulted the Klingon language. In threatening my honour, he must face me in the challenge of _B'aht Qul_. Until then, the incident will not rest."

Buffy frowned in disbelief. These Klingons were pathetic. Like teenage jocks out to defend their exaggerated reputations.

"A challenge?" she puzzled.

Worf nodded.

"The _B'aht Qul_ challenge!" cried one of the others and slammed his elbows onto the tabletop with his fists raised. The Klingon opposite him followed suit and brought his own elbows to rest on the table. He placed his fists on the inside of his fellow's – wrists to wrists – and they chanted a brief, drunken verse before pushing against each other.

The first tried to force his opponent's arms inward while the second attempted the opposite. They struggled briefly with little movement until the first grew bored and cracked his rival with a fierce head-butt.

Both men reeled from the impact and collapsed to the floor, almost immediately bursting into alien song.

Buffy stopped to think for a moment. They really expected Xander to go through _that? _Well, if they did, she certainly didn't.

"It's a shame he's not with us, then," she stated. "You must already know Xander was sent to another ship. Indefinitely." She took a more playful pose to show how little the 'warriors' threatened her. "But as the head of my group... I accept the challenge on his behalf."

Worf grunted. "The challenge is for _him_. He is the cause of our grievance."

"Funny," she replied, "but I was led to believe that 'round these parts a leader was responsible for the actions of their group."

Worf's lip curled up.

His fellows looked at him for a response.

Buffy went on: "That would mean any grievance you have with _any_ of my people... is between _you_... and _me_."

After a moment in which Worf realised his bluff had been called, he planted his elbows firmly on the surface of the table. "BAT QUL QAD!"

Buffy took the time to look around the lounge and found that a handful of the patrons were now transfixed with the situation at the table of the Klingons.

So, people were watching. That was okay. So long as she didn't make a jackass of herself.

Buffy, now feeling a little more than nervous, took the stool across from Worf and rested her fists within his. Due to the shortness of her arms it meant that her elbows, unlike Worf's, hung two or three inches above the level of the table. That didn't help her nerves any.

She thought she stood a fair chance of out-manoeuvring Worf. That much she had proved already. But a test of strength was another matter. Klingons were strong. She was super-human. She wasn't super-Klingon.

What she, as well as Worf, did not see was Deanna Troi, sat in the recess at the opposite corner of the room, sneaking in a late-night chocolate sundae. The counsellor's full attention was now on the Slayer/Klingon stand-off.

Worf called out "DAH!" and Buffy immediately felt him pressing in on her. Her muscles tensed instinctively and she managed to regain her starting position, much to Worf's annoyance.

His arms tightened up some more and he put his all into closing the gap between his fists.

Buffy felt her muscles pull and they began to burn suddenly.

It all seemed to be going wrong for her as Worf almost claimed his victory. But then she remembered. She wasn't just Buffy. She was the Slayer!

Her arms tightened up tenfold; muscles like rope wrapped around bars of steel, and Worf began to lose his advantage.

Ever-so-gradually, and with great struggle, the Slayer managed to bring the challenge back to its first position again. But there it lingered.

Buffy feared then that the Klingon might try to crack her skull open with his and that was not something she was about to allow... So, just for the slightest fraction of a second, she relaxed her muscles.

This surprised Worf and, when she returned at full force to push her wrists against his, the surge of power overwhelmed him and he found his bare knuckles slamming with the crack into the table-top.

Worf roared in defiance, and Buffy stepped back from the table before he could lash out at her.

She hoped that this was the end of the matter. Mainly because her arms felt like painful jelly strips hanging off her neck.

She decided, rather foolishly, to give the other Klingons a threatening glare for good measure. To her benefit, it seemed to work and the Klingons soon dispersed, leaving a disgruntled Worf alone with her.

Worf simply sat and glared up at her through sweat-dampened hair with his misshapen teeth bared. He looked like a wild and ravenous animal.

"Ooh," said Buffy, regarding his expression. "What _is_ that?"

His face remained savage.

"Jealous 'cos I beat you?" she asked. "Or angry because I embarrassed you in front of your boys?"

At that, Worf seemed to tense up again, though his face relaxed. He stood as calmly as he could manage. "You have great strength. But strength without method is a weakness," he spat.

"Without method? I won your stupid challenge, didn't I? Besides... I train. Almost daily. I've learned all kinds of fighting styles. Giles is even helping me to get in touch with my spiritual centery place. My inner me. The essence of the Slayer."

Worf scoffed. "Only in the midst of battle, when you are at your most aware, can you learn your true nature. For a Klingon warrior – fighting not to live, but to bring glory to his name, with death facing him head on – never fearing it, for death in battle is the greatest of ALL glories, but beating a path TOWARD it ... Only THEN does the spirit run free. The hunter. The animal. Pure in thought and deed. Moving with grace. Killing with passion. …THEN you find yourself. The WARRIOR."

Buffy stepped back from him again. His words reminded her of what Dracula had said to her some weeks ago. That she was a hunter. A killer.

"Humans know nothing of combat," Worf said to her on seeing that his words were more piercing to her than the violence of another challenge. "In YOUR time, guns and bombs fight your wars. There is NO honour in overcoming an enemy from a far away place of safety where you cannot see the defeat in their eyes as they look upon you in death."

"I don't use guns," she retorted. "I have swords...axes...and stakes. Not even particularly sharp stakes. And I fight. hand-to-hand. one-on-one. A…a combination of MuayThai, Karatedo, Grav Maga, western Boxing ... _and_ some Shaolin Kung-Fu."

Again, Worf scoffed. "Human fighting techniques are crude and flawed. And you fight with no order."

Buffy couldn't believe his nerve. "Guess what? I like to improvise. Most of the moves are pretty basic, sure, and I adlib depending on the opponent, or how the mood takes me, and–" She stopped herself. Why was she letting this weirdo get to her? "Anyway, how's _your_ way any better?"

Worf's face grew suddenly darker and the offence that he felt was plain to see. "Klingons have MANY levels of martial combat! Each with their own distinct techniques and each of those techniques with sets of postures and mannerisms embodied with symbolism that forms a language in itself! The language of battle! And of Honour! When a TRUE Klingon warrior fights, his motion is like an opera – each action flowing one into the next; creating a narrative. A song that will be sung for generations to come!"

Buffy opened her mouth though, at first, nothing came out. "...Oh."

Worf moved in for the final blow. "But one such as yourself could NEVER find the discipline to master the warrior's way."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she shot back. "I'm impatient? Stupid? A _girl_? You don't even know me! You know _nothing_ about who I am!"

Worf moved closer to her. "For one, you are far too concerned with your appearance to be unconstrained enough to bare your spirit."

She held out a portion of her hair. "So, a warrior's not allowed to condition?"

"The way you wear your hair is inefficient. It is a distraction. It will be your undoing."

_He's attacking my _hair "That's ridiculous! It's never been a problem," she argued.

"When I am in combat, I choose to wear a warrior's braid for ease of movement and to signify that I have mastered all levels of the _Yan'ChaQ_ discipline."

_Big deal_, she thought. "So, you don't like my hair."

Worf realised the harshness of his words were beginning to wear off. It was time to say what he _really_ thought. "And your clothes are too delicate and soft. You are a contradiction. You claim to be a warrior yet you hide behind your weaker façade. It is deceitful. You have NO honour!" he growled at her. "If you did, you would not deny yourself your TRUE nature."

For some reason she couldn't comprehend, the accusation that she was without honour seemed to be the most painful of attacks she had ever received, and Buffy found herself so effected by it that she could not continue with this argument any longer for fear of emotional overload.

"I don't have to listen to this." She turned away from him then.

Satisfied that he had prevailed as victor of this round of their conflict, Worf gazed over the defeated girl one last time before turning from her and heading out of Ten-Forward.

From their barstools, Willow and Spike watched the Klingon pass by them, and the young wiccan straight away got up to go to her friend.

"Maybe we should let her cool off for a minute?" Spike advised.

Willow saw that Buffy's hands were still clenched in tight fists; her body still rigid, and reconsidered. "Maybe just a minute," she decided, and sat back at the bar.

Deanna heard Worf's last outcry from her table, and now she could feel the raw emotions that pulsed from both he and Buffy. "Worf!" she called as she ran after him. "Wait!" she said as she caught up with him in the corridor that led out of Ten-Forward, "What was all that about?"

"Nothing," he grumbled with little conviction.

"It didn't look like nothing to me. Are you alright?"

"I am FINE," the Klingon insisted.

"Well, you don't look it."

"It was a cultural disagreement. Nothing more."

He couldn't be any more unconvincing. Deanna tried another tact: "I thought you might have been to see me... after the death of your friend."

"He was my assigned guard. He died with honour."

"Oh spare me, Worf. You can't hide the pain from _me_."

"Pain? I am a Klingon. You are mistaken."

Troi shook her head. He was SO damn proud. "Worf, how long have we known each other?"

"Long enough, Counsellor. Excuse me."

She stopped him. "Twelve years! Worf, son of Mogh. Raised by Terrans, made his career in Starfleet, served on the Enterprise for seven years and Deep Space Nine for three. Worf, you may not always like to admit it, but you're the most human Klingon I've ever met. So don't try to tell me it doesn't hurt."

Worf sighed. "Are you quite finished, Counsellor?"

"No," she said flatly and pressed on. "Worf! As angry as you may be for loosing your friend, and as angry at yourself as I _know_ you are for feeling that way, don't you think it harsh... Don't you think it _unfair_... to take those feelings out on Buffy?" She paused to give him time to dwell on her questions. "Don't you think she's been through enough?"

Worf looked back into the bar at a motionless Buffy and contemplated. "Perhaps," he replied eventually. "I MAY have been... unnecessarily harsh." He tried to leave again.

"Hold on," Troi said, putting a hand against his chest. "Not so fast, Mister."

He sighed and stood still again, waiting for her to say whatever she had left to say.

"If that's the case, then maybe you owe someone an apology."

Worf hit her with his unimpressed scowl.

"It's like this, Worf; since Buffy arrived here she's been growing increasingly introverted. I have no idea what you said to her, but it did nothing for her confidence. And, just when she was beginning to climb up from the pit of despair she's been in, _you_ go and take the ladders away."

Worf didn't much like hearing this from Deanna. Perhaps the truth hurts. Or perhaps he was displeased at himself for letting her down.

"I may have to recommend you for a sensitivity course at Starfleet HQ," she said. "You _are_ supposed to be an ambassador, after all. Or had you forgotten in all the chaos?"

"I take it there is little hope of me winning this argument?"

"More like _no_ hope," she said with a smile. "Trust me. You'll both feel better for it."

Worf growled at her as he turned. "Very well." And he marched back into Ten-Forward.

When he got to her, Worf found the Slayer staring out at the stars as they seemingly pelted towards them in a blur.

He started to say something, but stopped himself at the last moment. Damn this was difficult. He'd just subjected this girl to a severe psychological beating. How could he take it back?

He thought it over and began to speak again: "Have your studies helped you to find your soul?"

Buffy couldn't believe he was back and she turned to give him a piece of her mind, until she saw the look on his face. He almost looked human. It surprised her. "They're...helping," she said. "I'm stronger and faster now than I've ever been."

"But you have not yet freed your spirit?" he asked carefully.

She didn't answer him right away. Her thoughts travelled back to Dracula. He was going to teach her about her history and show her what her body could do. Giles had taught her all the history of the Slayer there was to find in the books. But physically... there was so much she felt she was capable of that she had not yet touched upon. The heart of what she was still evaded her. "No. Not really," she reluctantly admitted. "Giles is doing great. I've learnt _so_ much through his training. But..." She struggled to say what she wanted without undermining the teachings of her 'Watcher'.

Worf offered an ending to her sentence: "It is too limited?"

She dropped her head in shame and silently affirmed. She almost felt like she was betraying Giles somehow. And to this savage of all people.

"I may have been incorrect," he said to her, drawing her attention.

It seemed he was not a man who commonly admitted to being in error.

Worf took a breath as if considering his next words most carefully. "Perhaps you DO have it within you to learn the Way of the Warrior."

* * *

(Yan'ChaQ Sword(to wield), thrust(with end of Bat'leth))


	14. Traders' World : Briefing

**- Traders' World -**

**--Briefing--**

_**14**_

Two massive dark shapes went gliding silently across the borders of the Bazari Territory unnoticed. The hundreds of tiny, glimmering windows on their surfaces slowly blinking out one by one until all that remained were shadows in the dark.

* * *

Lit only by the glow of the Enterprise' conference table, Picard addressed his senior staff and the four remaining members of Giles' team: "We shall be going in undercover. We mustn't give out any kind of signal to indicate we are members of the Federation. That means even the running lights must remain switched off. We don't want anyone looking out of their window and identifying us the old-fashioned way. While we are here, you should all be aware... the manner of people that frequent the Territory are viciously anti-Federation. They detest everything the Federation stands for and their attitude towards humans and Vulcans is of the utmost derision. Now, the Territory itself is not particularly large. However, it _is_ densely populated and finding Data will not be a simple matter."

Willow put up a hand timidly. "Can't we do a scan?"

Turning in his seat, Riker seemed especially eager to reply to her. "Clouds of ionised gas litter the entire region," he said in the softest tone any of the Scoobs had heard from him since they arrived. "This whole area was once a solar system until the star collapsed countless millennia ago."

Picard continued: "No, we are going to have to go about this the difficult way. The main amount of dealing takes place on the Traders' World at the heart of the region, with some specialist goods being traded on smaller moons and asteroids. So our greatest chance of locating Data is on the planet. Ambassador Worf?"

The Klingon was meant to be attending a strategy conference, so he may as well act as strategic consultant to _this_ mission. "We will be transporting down in small groups to cover as much ground as possible as there are dozens of market townships spread over the Traders' World, and Data can be in only one of them. Bearing in mind that, the fewer away-teams we send, the lesser our chances of being discovered. Therefore; only four teams will be sent to search all areas."

He then set up the teams:

Alpha Team consisted of Captain Picard, Crusher, Giles and Lt. Daniels.

Beta Team were Worf himself and Cmdr. Riker.

Gamma Team was also a large group, consisting of Counsellor Troi, Buffy, Willow and Spike.

Delta Team would be Martok and his Klingon aid.

"Alpha Team will be assigned to the northern region, Beta Team will search in the south, leaving Gamma and Delta Teams with west and east respectively." Worf held up a small, brown, rectangular object no larger than a pocket-sized calculator and added: "These devices will simulate one of Data's actuation servos. When activated at close range it will shut down his systems."

Willow gave a grimace. "Will that hurt him?"

"No," La Forge assured her. "It'll be like... sending him to sleep for a while."

"And this gadget definitely works?" asked Buffy.

Worf replied: "This method _has_ been successful in the past."

The Gang looked apprehensively between themselves.

Then Buffy said what they were all thinking: "This kind of thing's happened before? With Data?"

The captain was quick to respond. "Um... it's a long story. Let's move along, shall we?"

Doctor Crusher came to his rescue and leant forward to speak. "All human members of the away-teams will receive minor surgical alteration to give the appearance of Bajoran members of the Maquis. That includes you, Deanna, I'm afraid. I wouldn't want to risk any of the locals mistaking you for a human. Worf, you'll be fine."

Worf nodded. Klingon renegades were well respected in the Territory. "All communicator and tricorder casings will be modified to give the appearance of non-Starfleet models," he said.

Picard added: "And phasers will be kept hidden; to be used only in an extreme emergency. Hand-phasers only."

"That doesn't go for security crew," Daniels informed them. "Each away-team will be appointed one officer from security who will openly display a Bajoran firearm to deter would-be muggers."

"But most importantly," said Picard severely, "and again I stress, ...do not give _any_ indication that you are there on Starfleet business. The natives would enjoy nothing more than to execute every one of us in the street for all to see. Do not engage anyone unnecessarily and stay out of trouble."

Spike coughed into his hand to get their attention. "What'll I do if it's daytime down there?"

Riker responded, but not as softly as when he spoke to Willow. "Like I said – there's no sun. The atmosphere is fully artificial."

"What if we don't find him on this planet?" Buffy queried.

"We will begin searching the most frequented moons, asteroids and mining stations," replied Worf, with a tone of respect that he had not previously shown to the Slayer.

"This is a highly dangerous assignment," the captain explained, looking at the Scoobies. "And I would understand if any members of your group would rather remain onboard the Enterprise."

After another brief exchange of glances between the Scoobs, Buffy answered for all of them: "We're a _team_, Captain. Mind, body, heart and soul." She was, of course, referring to the spell that the Gang used to defeat Adam. She went on: "We're just as involved in this as you. In fact...If this is anyone's mission, it's _ours_. You sure _you_ don't wanna stay behind?"

"Nobody's staying behind," Riker pointed out firmly.

"Very well," Picard responded, actually quite relieved that everyone seemed eager. "You have one hour to make any necessary preparations and to report to Doctor Crusher for alterations." He examined the faces that surrounded him. Each One hung on his every word. Each one had fear in their eyes. But each wore an expression of unwavering resolve. They were ready to strike back. "We'll rendezvous in the main transporter room in one hour." He stood, considered a moment, then added: "I know we are all confused and sceptical. We are from two worlds, and those worlds seem to have collided somewhat. None of us understand the full extent of what we are about to do. But, together, perhaps we can bring some kind of balance between the science and the supernatural."

The teams began to move out and Riker made his way over to his senior officer, followed by La Forge.

"You really believe we're facing supernatural forces?" Riker asked.

The captain breathed a deep sigh. "Honestly, Number One, ...I'm not entirely sure what to believe anymore. But I know this: No scientific theories I've been offered explain what has happened here. Data has been possessed by something that was not conceived of this world. At this point I choose to remain open-minded. I suggest we all do the same."

Riker and La Forge gave a troubled nod, yet Geordi seemed still to be pained by other worries.

Picard knew full well what they were. "Data isn't gone, Geordi. He's simply lost. We just have to find him."

"I don't know, sir," La Forge admitted sadly. "This thing that's controlling him... I'm not sure that we _can_ stop it. And if we can't... What then?"

The captain considered his orders from Command, and his eyes dropped gravely. But he'd already resolved not to allow Data to die. Picard lent his support by resting a hand on Geordi's arm. "We will get him back. I shall settle for nothing less than his safe return."

La Forge attempted a smile of gratitude.

"Better to cross that bridge when we're faced with it," Riker advised. They had a lot to organise before then.

"Yes, Number One. We have a mission to arrange." He took a moment to consider the role of the Enterprise herself in the upcoming away-mission.

Normally, in a similar situation where the majority of high-ranking officers were off-ship, Picard would leave Beverly in command. Though her position onboard was that of chief medical officer, Beverly's rank was that of commander. In this instance, however, Doctor Crusher would be in the Alpha Team on the surface. This would leave the ship without a captain. Fortunately there was one officer left onboard who had experience in the command chair.

"Geordi, I'll need you to take the bridge while we are gone. But I must be certain that you are able to think clearly. Regardless of your personal feelings."

"Always," confirmed the engineer. The intricate blue lenses of his optical implants seemed to glow with purpose as he accepted his upcoming responsibility. La Forge then turned and exited the conference room.

Riker waited until the doors slid closed then asked: "Captain? I'd like to know what the Rutherford will be doing while we're putting our necks on the line."

* * *

"We'll be trying to locate Data's fleet," Freeman said to his own crew. "Apparently he's gathered up quite an inhuman army, so there's likely to be a large concentration of shuttles as well as his own cloaked Bird of Prey."

The meeting onboard Freeman's ship took place at the rear of the bridge within the raised area containing the tactical mapping grid.

"And the Enterprise?" asked Hoop in his Aussie dialect.

"She'll concentrate on finding Data himself," Dave replied.

There were eight of them gathered around the mapping grid, plus Xander. Anya chose to remain in their new quarters. Xander suspected that she was trying to distance herself from what was happening. Like maybe she was beginning to recall fears that had been with her in her demon days.

The tactical mapping grid was a workstation that consisted of a large circular display set upon a rectangular table with a console on either end. The consoles gave them details of key points of interest within any given area. In this case, the Bazari Territory. With them one could plot courses and organise a strategic offence/defence around all planets and other astral bodies. The display showed the Territory in exceptional detail due to the Akira-class ship's enhanced tactical sensor suite. The Rutherford was highlighted in a blue bubble against the black of space. It showed them moving gradually toward the centre of the region. All around them appeared to be clouds of purple-red tinted with splashes of orange and green in places.

Along the outskirts were a number of stations. One appeared to be a damaged Cardassian station mining ore from the tiny moon it orbited. The most prominent feature, however, was near the centre of the area. A massive dustball of a planet with a good-sized moon. Traders' World.

Also, the trailing end of an asteroid field was caught in the gravity of the planet.

Xander felt a rush of excitement as he stood with these people looking at the grid, which he thought was a pretty darn cool piece of hardware.

Freeman drew their attention to the display. "We'll use shuttles to create a grid throughout the region – using the clouds as cover – to scan for small vessels and cloaked ships. The electrostatic discharge from those clouds will interfere with all our key systems if we get too close. Tactical sensors, shields, and guidance systems. So we'll keep close enough to the edges to remain undetected without loosing our ability to scan."

Some of the group nodded, and Xander moved a little closer to the table.

"The Rutherford will remain central to the Territory, while six shuttles will begin here," Dave said, pointing out six locations around the outer edge of the map forming the six corners of a hexagon, "and work inwards. Each shuttle will be allocated a set of grid sections to be scanned. We'll keep shuttle crew to a minimum. One pilot, one science officer."

More nodding. Xander began to realise that he wasn't too clear on what they were talking about.

"We've done this kind of thing before," said Freeman. "You all know your teams. Let's move out."

Everyone began to leave.

"Xander," he called across the table, "you'll be with me."

"With you? ...You mean...out _there_?"

"No free rides, Harris, remember? Let's go."

"Wha…Bu…hu…ugh."

* * *

Willow met Buffy at her quarters thirty minutes before they were due at the transporter room. They met and moved immediately through the dark corridors for their appointment with the doc.

There was some concern in the Slayer's mind, and she asked her friend: "If they _do_ manage to shut Data down, what'll happen to the spirit he's time-sharing with?"

Willow patted a small velveteen pouch that hung around her neck. "I got Plan B right here, Cap'n."

"What _is_ that? Not _tobacco_?" interrogated Buffy in a humorous manner.

"It's a Wiccan magick pouch."

"Aah. Spooky nik-naks," Buffy suggested.

"Just somethin' me and the chef rustled up in the kitchen. Mainly herbs. And a labradorite crystal I replicated. A precaution. In case the Boogie-Man tries to possess our souls. It's a protection spell, but I had to go on memory so it's not exactly an insurance plan with the Pru. More like 'Plan Nine from Outer Space'."

"Well, I feel many times safer just knowin' I've got my Willster covering our backs."

Willow smiled heartily as they walked through the familiar sliding doors of sickbay.

* * *

On the U.S.S. Rutherford, one single great shuttlebay door opened up at the rear of the saucer section and six small craft slipped from her shell like Bees from a nest.

One of those shuttles – the _Narayan_ – was piloted by Captain Freeman. By his side sat a wary Xander.

The formation hung as a group for a brief time as they set in their individual co-ordinates...

Before they split and went their separate ways like a silent starburst.


	15. Traders' World : Arrival

**- Traders' World -**

**--Arrival--**

_**15**_

The alley they had beamed into turned out to be the back of a filthy restaurant and the stink of the trash was enough to gag a maggot.

Buffy Summers creased her nose at the stench and noticed how odd the new ridges along the bridge of her nose felt as they folded in on each other. Doctor Crusher had guaranteed that they were temporary but she ran her fingertips over them one last time anyway, trying not to feel self-conscious, then turned to her co-'Bajorans'.

Beside her, wearing a ragged mix of cloaks, hoods and long coats, stood Counsellor Troi, Willow, Spike and their assigned security guard.

Spike had refused to be altered, so instead wore a large hood over his head; drawing such a heavy shadow that his features were hidden.

Gamma Team began to visually scan the alley cul-de-sac they had arrived in as Troi pulled out her apparently home-made tricorder – made up of Klingon, Terran and Bajoran parts with a few gadgets that were unidentifiable – and began a perimeter scan.

"He's nowhere within sensor range," she said, searching for Data.

"Can we really be sure?" Buffy questioned. "Could he be using one of those wetting fields?"

Willow and Deanna exchanged a look, and neither of them felt like telling her it was a 'damping' field.

"It's possible, but not likely," Troi replied. "And he doesn't know we're here. All we can do is move east and keep checking the tricorder."

With that she led them out onto the 'street' where the markets were bustling and the crowds grew noisy. Beneath their feet the sand-like grit crunched and above their heads, beyond the atmospheric dome which was lined with huge lights that created false daylight, they saw the ionised gas that surrounded this world.

The street was wide and full of people. On either side were buildings that seemed to be of a clay-type material and each one was some kind of a shop or recreational facility. Drinking houses and food suppliers. In the street were scattered stalls selling anything from spare parts to dried monkey meat.

After being stuck on the Enterprise so long, it was a sight that took the Scoobies by surprise.

"Stay close to me," warned Troi. "And don't speak to anyone."

She set off through the crowds and the rest began to follow.


	16. Traders' World : Inquiries

**- Traders' World -**

**--Inquiries--**

_**16**_

Gamma Team had searched their first township quietly without result and Troi decided that, rather than risk the transporters being detected, they'd walk the 5 miles to their next target.

When they arrived at 'West Capital District', they found a much quieter location. It was similar in style but the people were fewer, which was a good thing as this town was the largest in their designated region.

Deanna put away her tricorder. "Nothing within the scan perimeter," she reported. "We'll start by walking the outskirts and gradually spiral in until we reach the central plaza."

"This is going to take forever," said a pooped Willow in exasperation.

"Unless you can think of a better way?" security officer Randall challenged. His youthful features were tensed to the point where his muscles seemed ready to snap. His senses were on full alert.

Buffy turned to the young guard with the short blond hair. "We could ask around," she said.

"That's not an option," replied the guard.

"If someone's seen Data around here they could point us in the right direction," she argued.

"The captain's orders were clear," stated Randall.

"We'll be doing circles all day if we–"

"_You_ aren't in a position to question the captain's–"

"At least _I_ know how to get the job done–"

Troi, Willow and Spike watched on as the two quarrelled for a good minute and a half until Deanna stopped them. "Alright! That's _enough_."

Everyone quietened.

"You both have a point. The way we're doing this _will_ take us all evening. But we must keep a low profile."

Buffy and Randall began arguing their points again.

"A civilian has _no_ authority–"

"A _what_? I'm the _Slayer_!"

They both suddenly fell silent when they realised Troi was aiming Randall's Bajoran pistol at them. "I said a _low_ profile."

The pair shut up.

Troi quickly handed back the guard's weapon and looked about to ensure they hadn't drawn unwanted attention. "Buffy, we have our rules here. Randall, this is as much their territory as it is ours." Troi gave the situation some thought. "Buffy does have a better understanding of our target," she put to Randall, "and I feel that the advice she has offered may be the best course of action in this situation."

"But Captain Picard's orders–"

"_He_ isn't here!" Troi retorted, seriously displeased with Randall's use of the captain's name. "And we shouldn't even be discussing him in public!"

He stepped down and seemed to wilt a little.

"I am in command of this team," Deanna went on, trying to get across that she wasn't just a counsellor but an officer. "I will take full responsibility if our superiors disapprove of my decision."

Randall nodded.

"Besides, we are the minority here. There are two of us and three of them. They are entitled to put their own expertise to use."

"Two," Spike said, attracting their odd looks. "There's two of them." He pointed at the Slayer and Willow. "And two of you. I don't actually give a toss what we do."

They realised he had nothing worthwhile to say, and turned away from him again.

"What now?" Buffy asked.

"Now," said Troi, "we find a shopkeeper who might be able to help us."

The Scoobs looked very relieved at that.

"Just let _me_ do the talking," ordered the counsellor.

They moved off into the town but Spike, who was at the rear with Randall, seemed a little less eager to follow them.

Something didn't feel right to him.

-

200 metres into West Capital, Troi stopped them outside a junk dealer's place.

"We'll try here," she said, turning to Buffy. "Remember; let me handle this."

They were just on their way in when Spike coughed into his hand, getting their attention.

"What's the matter?" asked the Slayer.

"Nothin'," he said. "I'm just... gonna go back this way." He pointed back the way they had come. "I could use the fresh air." Then he realised there wasn't any. Plus he didn't breathe. "Besides, I'm startin' to feel peckish," he lied. He turned and set off walking away.

"You can't wander around here on your own," Deanna pointed out.

Spike gave her the V-sign over his shoulder and continued on his way.

Buffy approached Troi. "Don't worry, he can take care of himself."

"Something could happen to him."

Buffy smiled a little. "Well, that'd be a bonus. At least he's out of _our_ way."

So the group set off again for the shop.

But Buffy didn't follow right away. She stayed and watched Spike go with a frown across her brow. She suspected there was more to Spike's departure than he was letting on.

-

They spent the next 30 minutes listening to Troi feeding the shop-teller the biggest heap of bull they'd ever heard. She was remarkably convincing. If Willow and Buffy hadn't have known better they'd have believed it themselves. And the wrinkly strange alien guy behind the 'cash register' seemed at least 2 short of a twin pack.

Deanna told him a lengthy story of how Data had betrayed a Maquis base' location to the Cardassians and her entire family had been slaughtered. The teller then listened keenly as she described Data as a rare species of Rylliac with golden-yellow skin and strange speech.

The man gave it considerable thought and said: "Don't believe I's seen anyone bearing that description 'round these parts. You might be wanting to ask around the main street, though. Best of luck with that."

But Troi was not the Bajoran she appeared to be, and her Betazoid empathy told her he was lying as much as she was.

They watched in surprise as Troi opened her cloak enough to show the teller that beneath her raggy clothes was a more than ample cleavage. "I...may be looking to start a _new_ family," she said, "...and I may require... impregnating," she offered lewdly.

The shopkeeper began to stutter and dribble profusely before managing to spill out: "He, he-he, he was _here_. Ooh, yes, yes, he was _here_!"

Randall suddenly stepped forward and shoved his phaser in the man's ear.

Troi put her cleavage away and leaned in to him. "You were saying?"

The creepy little alien sighed in defeated sexual frustration. "He was asking after who might be in a position to supply him with experimental cloaking technology," he gave up. "Said he'd tried everywhere on this vacant planet and his patience was running thin. He, he was..._almost_ as threatening as _you_. Said he would tear out my eyes if I didn't– _Ooh_," he squeaked as Randall's gun threatened to slip right the way into his ear.

The man got the hint and said quickly: "I, I told him to go see a local Klingon big-wig. He owns an establishment – _'Heart of the Targ'_ – in the centre of West Capital."

Randall released him, Troi thanked him for his eagerness to help, and they all began to leave.

"I should warn you folks," he said after them. "R'Ungam is with the local criminal ring. Humans call them the Bazari Mafia. He don't take too kindly to folk asking questions. If I were you, lady, I'd forget about your loss and get to making those new babies."

The Gamma Team glanced at each other, momentarily worried, then headed out to find the _Heart of the Targ_.

-

About half a mile of walking later, the Gamma Team stopped.

"There," said Randall, pointing to a large bloodstained sign hanging over a recessed doorway. The text upon it was in ancient Klingon, and the image that accompanied it was rather abstract.

"Heart of the Targ," Buffy figured.

Deanna led them again with the intention to do the talking. But, when the massive scaled doorman said: "We are CLOSED for the afternoon." with an ominous growl that shook the ground beneath them, Buffy decided both threats and tall stories would be pointless.

Instead, Buffy had another lie in mind. Especially when she noticed, through the window, the large empty stage inside the bar. "We're a band," she stated and then added: "_The_ band."

"The band?" he rumbled back at her with a frown that could quite easily have crushed any other man's eyes to a squishy pulp.

Buffy nodded once. "That's right. We just got in from... the Sunnydale...quadrant."

"System," whispered Troi.

"_System_" Buffy corrected.

"The SUNNYDALE system?" he repeated with a deeper frown. "So where are your instruments?"

Buffy panicked. "Instruments? ...Oh... we're... we're..._A Capella_!"

"_Yes_!" said Willow. "We're a barbershop quartet!"

The doorman gave them all a cynical look.

"You buyin' any of this?" Buffy asked him.

The big guy shook his fat head.

"Didn't think so. Never _was_ any good at doing 'covert'. Well, I'll just have to do it the old-fashioned Slayer way."

A moment later, the huge guardian of doorways went hurtling through the entrance hall and crashed into a cash booth, smashing it to rubble and falling in a heavy heap to the floor.

Outside, Buffy stepped aside with a hand out. "Rank officers first," she jibed.

-

The three women searched through the empty building while Randall watched the entranceway, until they came to a recessed doorway that appeared to be locked. Without any wall-mounted controls around it to open the large metal entranceway it seemed they would get no further. But Troi had a couple of tricks up her sleeve.

She scanned the seal of the door with her tricorder, which gave off an odd cacophony of beeps and chirps, before she took a look at its readings. From her expression it didn't look promising.

"Can't we unlock it?" Willow asked her, drawing the hood of her cloak back to reveal her Bajoran features.

Troi shook her head. "It seems that the locking mechanism is controlled by a sensor just above the door there." She pointed up. "Most likely DNA activated."

"Whose DNA?" asked Buffy.

"That shopkeeper said this place was owned by a Klingon," replied Will. "Can we fool the sensor somehow?"

"Maybe," Troi considered. "If we had this 'R'Ungam's' DNA on record." She held up the tricorder. "But, if he's through there, there's no way to get it." She tried to scan beyond the door and shook her head again. "I'm not getting any readings."

"So we're stuck?" Buffy said with impatience. "We've come all this way, and the one person who could lead us to Data is through there, but there's nothing we can do?"

"Unless you know someone who can hot-wire the door?" Troi responded.

Well, Buffy eyed Willow.

Willow looked at Buffy.

A faint smile crept to their faces.

"You think you could do it?" Troi asked Willow.

"She can hot-wire _anything_," Buffy assured her.

-

A few minutes later, Troi had removed a wall panel with her phaser – on a low setting – and Willow was glaring blankly at the spaghetti junction of glowing Ferengi wiring and a mass of Klingon data chips.

"Okay," Buffy conceded, "_almost_ anything."

Troi sat down at one of the bar's many tables in submission. "It's no use, we'll have to wait."

"Maybe I can kick the door down," Buffy pondered. "It worked before."

Troi frowned at her. "You kicked down a door on the Enterprise?"

"Well...not exactly," the Slayer admitted. "The door sort of... moved out of the way. But I _could_ have kicked it down. The intention was definitely there."

Willow suddenly turned to them. "The Klingon owns this bar, right?"

Troi nodded.

"Then ... his DNA must be all over this place!" she concluded.

Troi got up. "Of course!"

-

It didn't take them long to find a recently used glass behind the bar that bore Klingon saliva. Troi then programmed the tricorder to emit that DNA code as a life-sign and called Randall back from his lookout position.

Soon the 4 of them stood before the door as Deanna waved the handset in view of the overhead sensor. It worked immediately. The door began to part in an interlocking pattern from corner to corner and, with a grinding whirr, opened slowly for the team.

It revealed a sparse turbolift.

"Not bad work for a counsellor," Buffy remarked as they got onboard.

"Technically it's _commander_," she replied smartly.

Buffy and Willow went quiet.

The doors closed behind them and the elevator began to descend.


	17. Traders' World : MindBender

**- Traders' World -**

**--MindBender--**

_**17**_

**In the south:**

Worf quietly observed from the street as Commander Riker emerged from a nearby wooden building and shook his head. Riker waited for a break in the stampede of bodies that passed before making his way back to the Klingon.

"Not Data?" said Worf, already knowing the answer.

"Just a robot man-servant running off neural gel-packs. Its motherboard has similar properties to a positronic relay. What about you? Anything?"

Worf grumbled and watched the passers-by. "No," he growled. "Commander Data could be anywhere. This is hopeless."

As he said this, Kuhl – The newly appointed military advisor to the Klingon fleet – returned from his own investigation. He had insisted upon being present for this away-mission.

But, thus far, The Beta Team had been searching the southern-most region with little success.

"Behind me," Kuhl said in the tone of a spy. "The cloaked figure with the bowed back."

They looked passed the stout Klingon and saw a crooked man; back doubled over in a way that was uncomfortable to even watch, of what race they could not see as he wore a baggy gown of dirty blue and green.

"What about him?" Riker asked somewhat abruptly. The man was clearly not Data. Even doubled over he would not be that small and thin.

Worf responded to the commander's disrespect by aiming an offending glare at him.

"I observed him acquiring a tachyon diffusion device in a most suspect manner."

"A tachyon diffuser?" Worf repeated. A machine designed to counteract the tachyons that adhere to a cloaking field. Amazing. A tachyon sweep would have been their sure-fire method of detecting a cloaked ship. Without that ability, an enemy may be undetectable.

"In what way was it suspect, General?" Riker said. "Bearing in mind our current location."

"It was the manner in which the sale was undertaken, Commander. The owner of the device seemed to part with his stock far too easily. Without pay."

"Most unusual," Worf confirmed.

"Perhaps the buyer was owed a debt?" offered Riker.

"Then the debt must be a large one indeed," the grey-haired Kuhl retorted.

"Why so?"

"The seller seemed more of a machine to me than the android we are searching for. As though his mind was not his own."

"Like he was being forced to part with the goods against his will..." Riker contemplated.

"Vulcan mind tricks?" pondered Kuhl.

"It may be nothing at all," said the commander.

"You question my instincts?"

"We need more to go on than mere instinct–"

Worf interrupted their discussion with the results of a tricorder scan of the departing figure. "This tricorder has been modified," Worf explained, "with the transporter program created to track supernatural beings."

Will scoffed.

But Worf held the scan results before him. "It would appear our suspect is... a _demon_."

Riker weighed the impossibility against the hard data in front of him.

"You SEE," Kuhl boasted, "a warrior's instinct, Commander, is NEVER wrong." General Kuhl tugged at his belt in a typically Klingon gesture of smug gratification as the two Klingons made a beeline through the throng of patrons in pursuit of their target.

-

Beta Team followed closely for nearly a quarter of a kellicam – almost half an Earth kilometre – until the shrouded figure stopped suddenly in the street. The team halted 20 yards behind and quickly formed a casual huddle beside a group of Pakled merchants. Had they been discovered? Could the suspect sense them?

The figure's crooked back straightened up and the hood that hid it's features from them began to turn a little to the left, almost as though it's face inside might be looking right back at them. After a long pause, the target fled at a speedy pace and withdrew into a narrow alley between two buildings.

"He's onto us," Riker observed, and the three of them took off after it.

-

The team entered the alleyway, leaving the crowds behind – the cacophony of their movement and banter growing more and more distant from them. And the inherent feeling of safety the crowds instilled went along with them. Which was, in itself, contradictory. After all, nowhere on this world was 'safe'.

As they rounded the corner where the alley opened up at the rear of the buildings, Worf and Kuhl each pulled a Klingon disruptor pistol from their belts.

The figure was just a short distance ahead of them. A pack it carried on its back no doubt housed the device it had obtained. But the robed figure did not run. Instead remaining still, almost like it was waiting for them to catch up.

Riker advanced as close as he dared to the suspect. "Hold your position! We are armed, and _will_ open fire!"

The mysterious individual obeyed, and straightened up completely – reaching a height of about 2 metres in all. So much for it being a crooked old man. Again, the hood of the cloak turned and Riker now felt certain that whatever eyes were behind there were looking right through the cloth at them. There was an abrupt ripple of the material, like the head beneath had performed a discreet twitch. But nothing happened.

Worf looked back down the alley; toward the corner that led back onto the streets. A sudden sensation that there was a presence behind them flooded over him. He watched for a few seconds for any sign that his feeling was correct. But there was no movement. No head peeped from around the bend. Also, there was another strange sensation. He could only have described it as a thin cloud of transparency that hovered over his perception. Yet, when he tried to focus on it, it would just bring him back to that other feeling. That they were being tracked from the rear.

Worf was about to concede that his suspicion was misjudged, when a clear shuffling sound came from behind the wall; amplified by the echo of the compact alley. He grinned. The enemy had failed to elude his predatory skills. The Klingon warrior slipped his disruptor into its holster and drew his mek'leth. The other two could handle the cloaked figure while Worf took care of the real threat here. He stepped away from his team without them realising, and retraced his steps down the alley.

Riker, in contrast, took a step toward their prisoner. "Turn around _slowly_; with your arms held out where we can see them!"

It spun on them. In an eruption of green and blue, it threw open the robe and presented itself in all its unnatural glory. The robe folded back to reveal thrashing tentacles.

It was bipedal, but the upper section of its body bore not arms but many thick, flaying tentacles. From the edges of the hood, smaller tentacles writhed around what settled for its face. And within this fray, a hissing mouth could be seen. But no eyes.

The mouth widened to fill much of the creature's 'face'. The tentacles waved about the creature's body in a threatening display of aggression, as it hissed at them in warning. A living tongue slithered from the opening of the mouth and stared back at them. The flesh on the tip seemed to grow around a reflective black sphere – possibly an eye. It was certainly the means by which it sensed its surroundings as it swayed and bobbed, testing the air.

The false daylight of Traders' World reflected a single point of white in the eye's inky blackness. Riker and Kuhl's attention was caught there in that spot of light. A spot of light held in a deep well of darkness. Once their interest was captured there, they were transfixed. Its power numbed their bodies until even the will to move was gone. It slowed their minds to the point where they had not the energy to fight against the calm stillness it evoked.

As Kuhl was lost in a vivid daydream of battle, Riker's thoughts drifted to Troi.

Counsellor Troi...

Deanna...

...IMZADI.

The ebony eye drew back and the tongue became a makeshift claw. Drool from the gaping mouth fell in great gobbets over its mottled, cyst-ridden flesh.

With the eye gone, Kuhl's keen muscles regained their vigour and his mind soon followed. As the Klingon snapped out of his hypnosis, the clawed tongue retreated into the maw; reached for something within the palate at the roof of its mouth, and tore something free. In its grasp was a small dart-like splinter. Perhaps just one of many that lined the inside of its muzzle. The tongue whipped and it flicked out the dart. It streaked across the alley and pierced Kuhl in the throat.

He lurched back and grunted in pain. Reaching up with one hand, he took hold of the bony needle and pulled it free, but the demon's venom was already at work in his system. Like a powerful anaesthetic, it desensitised his large muscles until they became too relaxed to support him. He first dropped to his knees, fighting the weakness within him. But he could only fight so much, and he fell forward onto the rough ground. Fully conscious, there was nothing he could do but look on from the prison of his own paralysed body.

A few moments later, even his eyelids grew too heavy to remain open. With his eyes fixed shut, it didn't take much for the old warrior to slip into sleep.

Will Riker, though aware of what was happening, was caught between the real world and the dream-state that numbed his whole being.

The eye returned and regarded Riker momentarily. Then the demon turned on its heels in a swirl of blue and green cloth, and drew away.

The demon was gone, and Riker came back to the world. He quickly pulled his Bajoran hand-phaser and fired just as the creature turned into a side-alley between two storage facilities. His reaction was a second too slow and his shot hit bare wall; the demon disappearing out of sight.

Riker glanced around.

Kuhl was down. His heavy snores were a clear indication that he was not dead. But where was Worf?

"WORF!" he called out. There was no reply, and there was no time to waste. He gave up on the idea of finding Worf and gave chase through the back streets to capture their elusive opponent.

He soon found it in a tight cul-de-sac. Behind the creature a high wall blocked any hope it had of escape, which gave Riker some hope. To its left was a locked door to one of the storage buildings that surrounded them.

He had it cornered; with his phaser locked on target. "You're out of places to run... whatever the hell you are. So, unless you want me to start amputating those tentacles of yours" – he held his phaser right out – "you'll remove that pack you're wearing and lay it on the ground. And don't even _think_ about trying anything."

Riker realised then that, what at first appeared to be a bipedal creature was, in fact, nothing of the sort. What seemed on initial inspection to be legs... were actually two of the thicker tentacles tied into a pair of heavy boots! It wasn't even humanoid! It was a damned Octopus! Or whatever kind of pus had about twenty limbs.

As his eyes moved up the thing's body, he noticed now that each limb had on the underside many rows of tiny hooks.

His eyes moved further up...

And up...

And there it was again. That eye.

A sharp pain pricked the back of Riker's eyes and with it came a single piercing word.

_Deanna_

He cared for no other woman as deeply as he did for Deanna Troi. He often considered whether or not it could be possible to rekindle their romance. Though it was probably the case that they both had grown too much to rediscover a seemingly ancient love. And there were other things that stood between himself and his Imzadi...

Riker realised that the numbness had returned to his body and that his mind was not heeding his desire to get back to the business at hand. And where the hell was WORF?

Thinking of things that stood in the way, it was just a few years or so since _Worf_ was trying to move in on Deanna. But that was then, and Worf was no longer in the picture.

(Or was he?)

Riker recalled that Deanna had been the senior officer who met the arrival of the Klingon delegation to the Enterprise. She was the one to escort them to their quarters.

_No, no, that was only because myself and Captain Picard had been far too involved with rescheduling the duty rost_er _to welcome them at the time._

(What if that was just a cover?)

_A cover?_

(Yes, a cover. A way to allow Deanna to greet Worf the moment he arrived!)

_Oh, listen to yourself! Now you're getting paranoid!_

Of course, Riker really had no doubt that it wasn't pre-organised.

_But that didn't mean Deanna hadn't wanted to be there_ _to welcome Worf into the ship._

(Into her arms.)

_Into her bed!_

(Into her–)

That was when he heard Worf's gravel voice behind him.

"My apologies, Commander. I was certain we were being followed. But I believe this creature was affecting my mind."

Riker shuddered with disgust when he heard the Klingon speak. To think that this man had courted his Imzadi. The pain that he felt just _imagining_ this foul, sweaty beast laying his hands on the woman he LOVED!

Worf put a hand on his shoulder and asked: "Are you alright, Commander Riker?"

"I'LL KILL YOU!" came his reply. Riker turned on him viscously and made a grab for his face.

The warrior caught Riker by the wrists and held him at bay. The two of them struggled for a moment until Worf's eye was drawn behind the brainwashed Riker.

He saw the creature scaling the height of the wall with its hooked tentacles. Before the warrior had time to reconcile what he was seeing, it scuttled over the crest of the wall and out of view. He could not allow that thing to escape.

Worf apologised again to Riker then beat his fist into the man's soft nose. Riker's eyes rolled back in his head and his muscles went limp.

As the commander slid to the floor, Worf hurried away. He made straight for the door to the storage facility, blasted the old-style lock using his pistol, and barged into it with his shoulder. He found himself in darkness, but kept moving. Twice he crashed into crates as he ran for the rear of the building. It couldn't be far now.

He smacked into the back wall running, and stumbled back. Unfazed, he began to feel for what he hoped he would find, until he recalled there was a light in his belt. He hurriedly slipped the pistol away and drew out a small torch, lighting the back wall. Instantly he found what he was searching for.

The rear exit blasted open and Worf came out onto a metal stairwell overlooking another crowded street filled with stalls.

He could make out nothing familiar among the melee of writhing bodies. Throwing down the light, he pulled out the tricorder to scan the area for the demon. A few moments later he turned and cracked a fist into the building. He looked back at the street and reluctantly admitted defeat. They'd lost the target. And the device.

He made his way back to check on General Kuhl and the commander.

Riker was going to be most annoyed.


	18. Traders' World : The Wanderer

**- Traders' World -**

**--The Wanderer--**

_**18**_

**Somewhere in the West:**

As he wandered through the streets of Traders' World, Spike happened upon a stall where a small scaly fellow was taking an odd, twisted kind of cigarette from the stall-keeper and lighting it eagerly.

At the stage he was at, he didn't care what type of cig it was as long as he could smoke it. Licking his lips with anticipation, he headed over to get one for himself, but halfway there he caught a whiff of the stuff and turned right around. Sure he needed a smoke, but there was no way he was smoking something that smelt like a Cow turd.

As he turned, the platinum-haired vamp caught sight of something else of interest. A guy was trying to get into a bar. The leather-skinned doorman turned him away, saying: "We don't serve Terrans here!"

"But I'm the tactical advisor to DaiMon Brakk!" the man explained quickly.

"I don't give a Vulcan's EAR who you are, human. You are NOT welcome HERE!" The crocodile-skinned doorman shoved the smaller man out into the street where he fell, kicking up a cloud of powdery dust. The man got to his feet unsteadily. Crowds of pedestrians soon surrounded him as they passed by in the street. From within this tangle of bodies came a shrill cry and, as the crowds thinned, the human could be seen collapsing to his knees; clutching an open knife-wound beneath his ribs. The man gargled blood from his mouth before he gave up the fight for life and dropped to the dirt.

Spike let out a surprised "Huh" as he watched the man get slaughtered in the road. Damn dangerous place. For humans.

He found the inner rage within himself and drew on it to bring out his demon face. His teeth formed fangs and his forehead grew heavy. The vampire came out in him.

He pulled his hood back in safety and decided to go check out this bar across the street. As he approached, Spike noticed a couple of weirdoes drag the body away and the offending doorman saying to a passer-by who he was talking to: "No awards for guessing what's on the menu at Gorlon's today!"

They laughed.

Spike reached the door and the burly bouncer stopped him. "What species are YOU?"

"I'm a _vampire_, mate. Did I mention I hate humans?"

"I've never heard of your kind. Where are you from?"

Eager to get inside and get rat-arsed, he replied: "England."

"England? Isn't that in the Grultaan sector?"

_Just go with it_ "Err...yeah, that's right." He made a move to enter the bar, but the doorman put a large hand against his chest and leaned in close. His vile, hot breath smelt rotten even to Spike.

"You're a long way from home, Vam-Pire. What, may I ask, brings you to our little corner of the galaxy?"

Spike gave him his most threatening look. "Well, now. I'd say that was _my_ business. Besides, I'm gagging for a drink so, if you don't mind, I'll be going in. Unless you want me to take my custom elsewhere?"

The alien's attitude reversed instantly. "Certainly not, my friend. Enter, enter, and enjoy the dancing girls!"

"Strippers, eh?" Spike said with a huge and razor-sharp grin. "I like the sound of that."

With a deep breath of anticipation, he stepped through the small entranceway of the public house. Sure enough, the dancing girls were strippers. And they were already stripped.

On a central stage, and atop numerous podiums around the bar, a group of naked erotic dancers were doing their thing with gusto. Completely stark naked. But Spike's keen smile faded when he saw them.

They all appeared to be alike barring one. For the most part, the young women were green. Green faces, green breasts, green legs, and green... well... green everything. And their hair was thick and black. ALL their hair. They looked like She-Hulks.

And, as for the other one, she was like nothing he'd ever seen before. All fur, claws, and whiskers. A big, furry cat-woman. With a big, furry cat pussy. Not quite to Spike's taste.

The landlord too was green like the strippers. Only he was a male, and was fully clothed – much to Spike's relief.

"What'll it be?" the man asked him with little cheer.

Maybe he'd have Bourbon. Yeah, that sounded good. "I'll have the hair of the Hell-Beast that bit me!" he said enthusiastically.

The Orion barman replied with a blank stare.

Spike sighed. "Just gimme a beer."


	19. Traders' World : Narayan

**- Traders' World -**

**--Narayan--**

_**19**_

**In Space:**

The shuttlecraft _Narayan_ drew itself into position under cover of a gas cloud and began running the first of many scans. From the exterior, there was nothing to give away the shuttle's existence, its surface unlit, the warp nacelles dark and lifeless. Inside, the cockpit too was in darkness with the only light being that from the glowing instrument panels.

The trip from the Rutherford had so far been a silent one. Neither Xander nor the captain, who insisted on being called Dave, had spoken a word. Xander wasn't sure if it was against the rules or whatever. The only sound there was came from the comical chirps of the computer in front of them.

Xander glanced around. A rack on the wall behind Freeman housed a set of rifles.

_Those are the laser guns!_ Xander noted.

And there was the smell. It was like being in someone else's car for the first time. He thought to himself that they must have great cleaning methods. It smelled brand-new. Xander rested back in his seat. _These Starfleet guys certainly have the right idea_, he thought. _These chairs are really comfy. _Comfortable physically that was. But nothing could ease his mental discomfort.

Space.

That was about all there was to see from where he was sat. A tranquil and wondrous view of heaven.

Or…

Cold, airless vacuum of utter void.

_Damn it. _He tried to imagine he was Sinclair. Or Sheridan. _You never saw _them_ crapping themselves on Babylon 5._

But it never worked. Reality was just too damned real. He could have continued admiring the view, but chose instead to watch Freeman work. Or, rather, he preferred to distract himself from the view outside. The light from the console shone onto the captain's face and highlighted his beard. _Man, the guy has a thick beard._

Xander scratched at the edges of his own newly styled facial hair. Though it was still more stubble than beard, the edges were much more prominent against his smooth skin. He had Dan Oom to thank for that, of course. Only now, it was at that troublesome itchy phase. But it was worth it for Anya. All for Anya. A fact he'd reminded her of when telling her that he was breaking his earlier promise not to leave her so that he could come on this little expedition. He'd noticed also that she'd been much less interested this time around when Chevva Swift had given them the ambassadorial tour of the ship.

Xander laughed inwardly. Chevva had seemed more eager to show them his mixing decks than anything else. DJ Chevva Swift – devoted to early 21st century dance, rap and R&B classics. Xander had remarked: "That stuff's a little _after_ my time."

And there had been the Galley – Rutherford's equivalent to Ten-Forward. There had been a strange magnetic dartboard, a nine-ball pool table, and a number of more alien games underway there. Not at all like the Enterprise. He found it much more suited to his own taste. He'd already signed up for the pool tournament and offered to repair Hoop's 3-legged antique coffee table.

* * *

Captain Freeman finished inputting commands and at last broke the long silence: "How are you finding the Rutherford after your time on the Enterprise? I trust that everyone's made you feel welcome."

Xander came back into the moment. "Yeah. Everyone's been fine. I can see why your crew enjoys serving on the good ship Rutherford. It's a pretty relaxed place to work."

"I like to think so. The way I see it; the more relaxed people are, the more comfortable they are with just being themselves. And, hence, the more comfortable I am with my crew." He checked his screen then continued: "Speaking of which... I know I don't know you very well, Harris, but I can't help feeling that you're not entirely comfortable with things as they are. Would I be wrong in assuming that you're not feeling quite yourself these days?"

Xander imagined himself as a book opened to the middle pages. "Is it _that_ obvious?"

"I _am_ fairly observant when it comes to human behaviour," Freeman boasted. "Plus it helps to have a telepathic science officer."

"Those pesky Zoanoids."

Dave chuckled, then went on to say: "This is none of my business, but... may I ask? What were you _really_ doing the night your friends closed the Hellmouth?"

Xander closed up quite physically. "That was a long time ago. And it's not one of my happiest memories."

"I understand, Xander. If there's one thing _I_ don't discuss, it's my past. Not even with Vaun or Hoop. You can't be proud of _everything_ you've done in your life, you know. And the respect of my peers and crew are far more important to me than my life before Starfleet."

"You weren't born in Starfleet?" Xander said with alarm.

Smiling, Dave quickly replied: "Starfleet's not some religious sect or separate species. It is the eyes and ears of the Federation, and its military wing. It isn't something you're born into. You have to join. If you can pass the difficult entrance exam."

_Oh_

"I wasn't even born on a Federation planet."

Xander was quite surprised by what he was hearing. He'd assumed that the Federation/Starfleet was a self-contained 'superior' society.

He dared to ask: "So... what made you join?"

Freeman eyed the young man and weighed him up thoughtfully. It might just be worth taking a chance and trusting him. After all, wasn't it true that you must first give in order to receive? "I... grew up in a colony on Venus-Three," Dave explained. "I think the original idea was to see how a human civilisation would develop on a less than perfect world. I think it's safe to say it was a failure. And things have been steadily getting worse there ever since. I'll say this for the place; there was never any need for a universal translator there. It was the kind of environment where _money_ talked. I had to start earning as soon as I could, so I worked as a technician from the age of twelve. I found a tech job working for a shady character who built freighters from parts of scrapped ships. They went on to be sold by a Ferengi to unsuspecting customers."

"Ringing," Xander called it.

"It wasn't exactly an honourable job by any means. But it was a living. Trouble was, on Venus-Three, there were many rival businesses. And some of them didn't have a problem with getting violent. It got to be a dangerous place to live. Without money to pay for protection, you were in big trouble. Don't get me wrong, I was no saint myself. Got in a fair few fights. But, in the end, I _had_ to get out. …So, I saw Starfleet as the perfect fix. No money worries and no need to watch your back every second." He looked at Xander. "I know what you're thinking. Not the best reason to join, right? Looking back, I'd have to agree. But I went in for the test anyway ... and failed miserably. That was a rude-awakening, I can tell you. I hadn't realised how hard it would be. This was only twelve years ago. Four years and three more exams later, I passed. It took a whole year of pure study to get there. But, as soon as I hit the academy, I was bit by the bug. Once I was assigned in space, I rose up the ranks quickly." He stopped to give the sensor display a brief perusal before continuing: "I only became a captain so quickly by chance, really, when I was made acting-captain during our war with the Dominion. At the time, vessels and crew were stretched thin and, when both my captain and his first officer were killed in battle, I took command for the remainder of the mission. I was a lieutenant commander – the highest-ranking bridge officer left standing. But things were so tight that Starfleet kept me on as acting-captain for our final Dominion conflict. I like to think that my performance impressed them enough that Starfleet made me a full captain. But the war took its toll on our resources. They needed all the decent captains they could find after that. So, I jumped a rank there. And a year ago I was given the Rutherford." Dave went back to his work on the scans.

Xander looked at the man next to him with a whole new perspective. "Your family must be proud of you now," he said.

Dave didn't look up. "Venus-Three isn't that kind of society," he answered. "Families don't really have a function there. You're pretty much left to fend for yourself from birth."

At that moment, Xander came to a realisation. That was why Freeman treated his crew like family! "Aah. I see," he said.

Freeman looked back at him and something in the way he'd spoken convinced Dave that Xander really _did_ see. Perhaps he'd given too much away. Well, it was too late to take it back now, so maybe he could get something in return. "What about you?" the Captain asked, treading gently. "Did something happen that night that you're not proud of? Weren't you there for your friends when they needed you?"

Xander took his time to consider his response, or whether to give one, before reluctantly admitting: "Well... I was there. But not with them. I…I just stopped a zombie kid from blowing the school up with a home-made bomb."

"Then... what you're saying is... you saved your friends?"

"If the bomb had gone off it would have killed us all, and the Hellmouth would have opened up."

Freeman sat back and eyed him thoughtfully. "So, what you really did was save the world? You must have got some big-time respect for that stunt."

"Actually... no-one knows. Well, except you. I…I never told anyone."

"Why the hell not?"

"It just didn't seem that big a deal at the time. I wasn't the only one who saved the world that night."

Freeman paused in awe and recalled: "They say... the true measure of a hero... is when he risks his own life to save others, knowing that they will never be aware of his bravery."

"Yeah, I heard something similar on an episode of the Twilight Zone. The one with Michael Dorn."

He was making light of it.

"Seriously, Harris. To be a hero without the desire for acknowledgement or reward... that's amazing. Not a lot of people could bear to let that kind of heroism go unrecognised. I know _I_ couldn't. That makes you more of a man than I could ever be."

Xander felt a sudden gush of pride with that.

Dave turned his attention back to the readouts just in time to see something appear on short-range sensors. His breath caught and slowly he let his eyes raise up to the window in disbelief.

Xander saw the concern on the captain's face and looked out also.

Something massive and ominous shimmered into existence before them.

The two men's faces were caught in fear by the light from the controls beneath them.

Bird of Prey!

Its wings were already locked down to attack, and she let loose a volley of green cannon fire. The shuttle rocked violently and tilted.

Freeman jumped on the helm controls. "Buckle-up!" he warned as he began to turn them around.

Xander dug his fingers into the side of his seat for purchase and discovered the clasps of a belt were built into the chair. He pulled out the straps and fastened them tightly around his waist.

Dave spun them about and drove them out from under the shadow of their attacker.

Shots of plasma energy passed them on either side and struck the rear of the shuttle with force. The shields of the Narayan strained with every blow that shook them.

"Hold on!" Freeman called. "We're taking a pounding."

"No kidding," Xander muttered, and tightened his belt.

Freeman cut hard to the left to avoid a cloud pocket. He tried to level the field a little by firing both phaser banks at the enemy, before readjusting their course. The Bird's defences held.

Their aft shields were already failing when a direct spread of cannon fire pierced through to the hull. The small shuttle was shunted forward.

"Damn it! Our shields are down!" Freeman programmed a straight heading and concentrated on obtaining a decent firing position on the Bird. Both phaser banks were locked. He watched for an opportune moment to fire them.

The Bird of Prey dropped its shields.

Perfect.

He fired.

But, by the time the phaser beams reached their target, the Bird of Prey had taken evasive manoeuvres and the energy beams sailed across her belly into the void.

A fizzle sound arose in the cabin behind them, and Xander was the first to react. He swivelled around to find a figure materialising at the rear of the cockpit.

Xander saw the rifle rack and shot up from his chair. But the belt caught his waist and snapped him back. He groaned and unbuckled himself, letting the belt slide back into the sides of the seat. When he reached the rack, he found that the weapons were each locked in place. He unhooked the catch that held one, pulled it free and turned with it to find...

Klingon zombie! Right in front of his face!

Xander yelped and tumbled back into his seat. The monster came forward, groping for him. He regained his strength of purpose, lifted the rifle and braced the butt against his shoulder, expecting it to kick. The futuristic gun felt odd in his hands. _At least the trigger is in the right place_, he thought as he took aim and fired.

A ball of energy shot from the weapon and hit the zombie in the chest, absorbing into its body. The thing was knocked back by the impact, but recovered quickly.

Xander panicked as he fiddled with the strange weapon. "I need to vaporise it!"

Freeman abandoned the Conn momentarily to take the rifle from him. He reset it quickly, dropped it back in Xander's lap and spun back to work the helm controls.

The beast was already on top of Xander when he brought the rifle up and butted it into the face of the zombie. It tilted back and he kicked out – pushing it far enough away that he could bring the gun into firing position.

The creature recovered in time to see the barrel of the phaser rifle aimed for its head. It seemed to understand in that moment what was to become of its fate and Xander thought it seemed a much less frightening creature because of that.

"Boo," he said, then fired. He watched as the zombie burned away before him. With a great sigh, he sat back in his chair feeling a flood of relief.

Until the captain spoke: "It's not over yet, pal."

Dave piloted with one hand so that he could take Xander's wrist in the other and plant it on the console. "I'm gonna need you to take over the weapons so I can fly," he said hastily.

"I can't–"

"Don't worry. I've set it to automated targeting. Just watch for the computer finding a lock; then hit the red button. Easy. Blow them into another dimension." With that, Freeman went back to the helm.

Xander stared for a long time at the small screen beside his left hand. On it was a grid showing the form of the attacking vessel. There were numbers that continually changed, which he didn't understand, and there was a circle of blue that searched across the screen. It moved left to right and back, until it found the vessel and stopped. The target turned red and a warning beep sounded from the computer.

_Damn!_ He looked down to where his hand lay and located the red button. Without hesitating, he hit it.

However, by the time he had sighted the red button and fired, the lock had been lost and the phasers missed their mark wide. Xander cursed himself and vowed to be quicker next time. He kept his finger at the ready. All he needed now was another lock.

Freeman pulled the shuttle as close as he dared to the nearest cloud and banked around it hoping that the disturbance would interfere with their attacker's sensor-lock. Hopefully the Narayan's enhanced sensors would be more resilient.

Unfortunately, it had little effect as the Klingon ship persisted in firing wildly in their general direction, and many of their shots were connecting.

Xander fired several more shots; the last two clipping the wing of the enemy ship. Though, without better understanding of these computers, he had no way of knowing how much damage he'd managed to do. He couldn't make head nor tail of the displays.

But Dave could. And what he saw was not encouraging. Even with his piloting skills, they were out-gunned and out-matched. He decided to do the only thing left that he could. He would have to send an SOS to the Rutherford and hope that he'd be able to avoid destruction until they arrived.

But the enemy had no intention of facing a starship.

The instant the Narayan's communications array came online, the Bird of Prey adjusted its tractor emitter, and blasted the shuttle with a reverse tractor beam.

The cabin lurched madly as though a huge wagon had suddenly ploughed right into the shuttle. They rolled and tumbled through space into a blanket of purple mist. The world spun for them as, all about Freeman and Xander, the walls of the cabin were bursting with sparks and explosions. Fire broke out and burned at their hands and faces.

Slowly, the spinning lessened. Freeman managed to straighten them out a little. The lack of sensor information apparently did not deter the Bird, as great bolts of green plasma soared by them on all sides. The helm suddenly sparked in fits, and Dave cried for Xander to get back. Both men rushed to abandon their posts as a burst of flame erupted from the console – knocking them suddenly to the carpet.

The shuttlecraft Narayan gradually drew to a halt within the depths of the ionised cloud.

* * *

In clear space, the Bird of Prey managed at last to get a rough lock on their target through the ionised gas, and prepared to finish them off.

* * *

Unknown to the enemy, there was another shuttle. A smaller craft from the Rutherford had tracked the emissions from the Bird's rickety engines. It slipped through the surrounding gas formations from behind the Klingon scoutship and hit it with multiple phaser-fire as it ran an aggressive fly-by.

As the shuttle came about for another pass, the Bird fired a spread of torpedoes followed immediately by a series of disruptor blasts. The small craft flew into the minefield of oncoming weapon-fire, taking a heavy beating that knocked her off-course. Her own attack was made sloppy by this loss of control, and her phasers did not meet their target.

The craft did not retaliate after that. She continued on like a car out of control.

The enemy chose not to chance another encounter, and the Bird caught hold of the shuttle with its tractor beam and swung the tiny vessel across space – releasing it into the gas cloud where it would be no threat.

The Klingon Bird of Prey prepared one last time to blow both of its victims out of space... But stopped suddenly. It instead turned quickly away from the Starfleet shuttles, as if mysteriously called away. As it went, moving fast, its wings levelled out into the flight position and its travel-worn green surface rippled into transparency.

It left behind a deathly quiet.

* * *

The smaller shuttlecraft drifted through the cloud and came to rest near to the Narayan.

* * *

Freeman pulled himself up off the deck with an extinguisher from beneath one of the consoles. After putting out the fires, he went back to check that Harris wasn't badly hurt.

Xander came around to find Captain Freeman at the front of the cabin.

As he moved back to a terminal at the rear of the cockpit he saw that Xander had come-to. "Fast work back there, Soldier."

Xander picked himself up and planted himself back in his seat, which was now a little cooked. "Soldier?"

"It's the way you hold a phaser. Like you've done it before. You've never been in the military?"

"No. Well, kinda, this one time. For a night."

"Must've been a hell of a night."

"You could say that." Xander scanned the wrecked cabin and felt his heart slowly sink in his chest. "We're in trouble aren't we?"

"Yeah," the captain sighed. "We're pretty much hanging on by a micron here. We've lost almost everything." He tried to think. "Somehow we have to contact the Rutherford. We've lost propulsion and I can't get the life-support systems back online. If they come back, we're a sitting duck."

Suddenly they stopped.

Freeman's legs turned numb as panic struck him.

It dawned on them that there was a faint sound of hissing nearby, and it gradually grew louder. Both of them closed their eyes. Freeman tried hard to think, whereas Xander was having trouble just getting _his_ brain to function in _any_ capacity. He certainly didn't want to ask what the sound meant.

A quick working of buttons on the internal diagnostic monitor confirmed Freeman's fear. "We've got a sub-microscopic hull-breach in here," he reported gravely, glancing around as if to sight its location.

"B-breach? What–? ...I mean; what's–?"

"I'm trying to divert what power we _do_ have to set up a forcefield around it."

Xander felt a lot better at that. At least there was something Dave could do about it.

However, when he tried, the result was exactly what Freeman had expected. There simply wasn't enough power left in the Narayan to sustain a forcefield.

Xander saw Dave shake his head as the hissing continued to intensify. He almost thought he could feel a draft at his feet.

The captain stood and began to pace, clicking his fingers as he tried to think. "We have to plug that hole before it gets big enough to turn this ship inside-out."

Xander sat in panicked paralysis.

A few long seconds later, Freeman snapped his hands together. "Got it! We need to jury-rig a hull plate! Quickly, come with me." With that, Freeman shot into the rear cabin; followed eagerly by Xander.

Dave led him into the back of the shuttle where he went to work ripping panels from the wall to get at the insulation jacketing that surrounded a power-transfer conduit. After asking Xander to get him a laser-cutter from the engineering locker, Freeman cut out a small segment of the jacket. He took it back into the cockpit where he welded it over the microscopic hole with a tiny type-1 personal phaser.

Once that was secure, he went back to the working terminal and ran another diagnostic. He closed his eyes and let out a breath.

That didn't bode well in Xander's eyes.

They'd lost valuable air through the breach, and Dave decided to keep that fact to himself for the moment. He went on to do the only thing he could do. He took what little power the shuttle had left and poured it into one single momentary burst from the sensor arrays. He hoped to God that it reached out of the cloud. He hoped too that it reached one of their vessels. He also hoped that such a vessel would detect the scan and come to their rescue.

Just these three things he hoped for.

_Just give me three wishes_, he thought. But he knew already that the 1st wish was unlikely, that the 2nd was highly improbable, and that the 3rd was most definitely impossible.

"Strap yourself in, Xander," he advised as he initiated the sensor pulse.

As the Narayan sent out a sweep of information-gathering energy, Freeman's console suddenly blinked out. A moment later, it flashed back on long enough for him to read the results before it went offline altogether. That was it. No power.

A sudden sensation came over the two men in the cockpit. As though a pressure they didn't even realise was pushing on them had just been lifted. Out of instinct, Xander gripped onto his seat as he felt himself drifting away from it. But his belt, which he tightened, held him secure.

"You okay?" Freeman asked him.

"I think I'm feeling the gravity of the situation," he replied. "Pun intended."

There was a moment of deathly silence.

"Are you afraid to die, Harris?"

Xander went cold. "Afraid?...No. More like... petrified."

"Good," Freeman noted. "Today could be you're lucky day."

Xander almost choked. "But ... we're trapped. Aren't we?"

Freeman pointed out the windscreen. Through the purple-red mist, Xander saw another drifting ship inside the cloud.

"That's the _Hannigan_. She's sustained minimal damage...but her crew must be down if she's still drifting."

"Can't you get them to respond...on the radio?" asked the Scoob.

"Not in this cloud. Besides, They're probably hurt. Or dead."

"I don't get it," Xander admitted. "What can we do?"

Freeman pulled himself across to the pilot seat next to Xander, which worried him even more. "_We_ have no power. The air in this cabin is all we have to live on...and in about ten minutes, it's going to run out. Then we die. So, we have to get to the Hannigan _now_. We can power her up and take her out of the cloud. Then we can get a message to the Rutherford. Do you understand? We _must_ get to that shuttle."

Xander couldn't see where Freeman was going with this. "...How?"

"There _is_ a way, Xander... but you're not going to like it."

Xander stopped breathing.

"How would you feel if I was to say to you ... _E.V.A_.?"

_No..._ Xander turned in his chair and stared out into space. That was like ... extra vehicular something or other. That meant going OUTSIDE.

Dave leant in closer. "You're going to have to put on a spacesuit."

_Outside ... with nothing but a fishbowl and a fancy frock for protection. How can these people live so casually in space? _The only other place Xander could think of that was as diarrhoea -inducingly dangerous was deep in the ocean. Or Sunnydale.

"We don't have any other options," Freeman added.

Xander realised he must have nodded when Freeman patted his shoulder and said: "Okay. Let's go."


	20. Traders' World : Fyarl Or Nothing

**- Traders' World -**

**--Fyarl Or Nothing--**

_**20**_

**In the north:**

"That's a Fyarl Demon!" Giles whispered from behind a stall of dried meat goods. He stood with Picard as they watched a large creature entering a nearby clay-like building. It seemed that all the structures here were made from the dust that formed this world, bonded with some kind of chemical adhesive.

Across from them, at the far side of the building, were Beverly and Daniels.

"Are you quite sure?" Picard whispered back. "He looks remarkably like a Szaizonite to me."

"I'm sure. I happen to have had some...experience with Fyarl Demons." He wasn't about to embarrass himself by telling Picard he spent a full day _as_ one. "How peculiar," he muttered. He realised the Captain was now frowning at him, so explained: "It's just that...if he were stomping about the place reeking havoc and tearing peoples heads off, I wouldn't worry."

Picard, quite unnerved by that comment, eyed Giles quizzically.

"But it's not common for a Fyarl Demon to take it upon himself to do the weekly shop. Which leads me to worry immensely."

"Then perhaps he is under the control of Evil?" said the captain.

"Quite possibly," Giles replied, watching the building carefully. "But I was under the impression it was your Commander Data we were expecting to find here."

Picard also watched the shop front. "He may still be here. This is a large planet for just one man to search alone."

"Then we must make certain that this demon does not find whatever technology it came for."

"I couldn't agree more, Mr. Giles." Picard signalled down the street for Daniels and Crusher to hold their position. He and Giles then made their way across to the shop, and cautiously entered through the large doorway.

"Jean-Luc, are you _crazy_?" Crusher muttered to herself from her crouched position beside Daniels. She noticed that he was looking over at her. "You saw how _big_ that thing was."

"I'm sure they're just observing," Daniels assured her. "Captain Picard knows what he's doing."

Right at that moment, the wall of the shop front burst outward as an entire rack of heavy-duty shelving crashed into the street.

The crowds stopped and moved back from the area.

More ruckus came from within the building.

Crusher and Daniels exchanged surprised expressions.

The dust had begun to settle around the store, when two Bajoran bodies were thrown out through the opening and rolled to a rough stop in the road.

Daniels and Crusher shot out of hiding to check on their unfortunate team-mates. The security chief instinctively went to secure his captain's safety, and the doctor knelt beside Giles as she checked him over and asked if he was hurt.

"I-I'm intact. I think," Giles replied with a genuine smile.

Daniels leant Picard a hand to pull him up off the gravel floor. The captain brushed the worst of the dust from his clothes.

"What happened?" asked Crusher with surprise for the most part.

A guttural roar and a crash came from within the torn building.

"_That_," Giles replied with a nod.

Seeing him still sat on the hard ground, Crusher apologised and bent to take his arm. She was about to support him as he stood, until he realised he was missing his spectacles. He searched the floor around him before Daniels spotted them a few feet away. As the security chief went to collect them, Picard began to help Giles to his feet.

Crusher removed her odd tricorder to confirm that both men were uninjured.

"It was almost as though it recognised us," Picard noted. He and Giles were half up/half down when a shadow fell over them. They looked up.

Behind Crusher, the light-source above them was almost completely blocked by a huge, dark shape.

Beverly glanced up from her pocket-computer to see their squatted pose and the shaded concern across their faces. She allowed herself to turn rather stiffly at the shoulders.

The Fyarl roared out, grabbed the doctor mid-turn, and raised her effortlessly above its horned head. It shook her before the men, until the tricorder flew from her grasp and she screamed out.

Picard instinctively ran at the beast to aid his friend. He was still five feet from reaching it when it raised a heavily muscled leg and, with almost no effort, knocked the captain sprawling into the stall of dried meat. The stand folded on impact and the whole stall collapsed onto him.

Giles picked up the tricorder and prepared to throw it. He aimed for the familiar face of the Fyarl and commanded: "Release the woman, you beast!"

The demon considered him briefly and looked around. It saw Picard already scrambling out of the wreck of the stall, behind it Daniels now stood with his Bajoran phaser out. It looked from Giles to Picard to Daniels. It was surrounded.

Daniels held his fire until such a time that Crusher was safe.

Giles held his projectile high.

Picard came closer.

The Fyarl growled low, then it spoke! Its language was so simple in structure that the universal translator had no problem deciphering it instantly, "RALGOR CRUSH!" It drew back then, and flung the doctor into Giles.

Daniels prepared to fire, but the Fyarl spun at him with a hiss and sneezed a dense ball of mucus. The flying mucus hit Daniels in the face and encased his head. By the time he hit the floor, the phlegm had hardened to a crust – cutting off his airway. He smacked the butt of his pistol against the side of his head twice before the shell cracked enough for him to prize it apart.

Beverly struggled on the ground as she untangled herself from Giles. "My apologies, Mr. Giles."

Beneath her, Giles flushed a little. "It's quite alright."

An awkward moment passed before they began to scramble to their feet.

Picard ran behind the demon, lifting a shard of the smashed shelving as he went. He neared the beast before it turned and, with some exertion, he dove onto its spiny back – bracing the shelving across its throat with both hands in an attempt to subdue it. Like a wild bull, it flailed and bucked, waving its arms and screeching madly.

"Silver!" Giles called out to Picard and the others, looking around.

The Fyarl continued to flail with Picard holding on more for purchase than anything.

"Silver?" Crusher puzzled.

Giles had no idea if it even existed on this world. "Yes. Silver. Only a silver knife can stop this demon."

Picard landed at their feet and groaned.

The Fyarl cried out with triumph. It moved to Daniels as he just managed to free himself from the mucus helmet. The demon crushed the weapon in his hand and raised him by his throat. It squeezed and began to turn his neck as if to snap it.

Picard and Crusher saw this and ran. Without a better plan, Giles joined them.

The three humans attacked the Fyarl at random.

Picard jumped on its outstretched arm and tried to weigh it down. But it did not release Daniels.

Beverly leapt onto its back and began fisting its head.

Giles tackled it at the waist with little result.

"RALGOR SMASH HEADS!" the beast boomed, and swung its arm – launching Picard and Daniels into the street. The Fyarl caught hold of Beverly's arm as she punched, and threw her over its shoulder at the other men. It then plucked Giles from its waist and held him upside-down.

"Oh, dear lord," he muttered when faced with the topsy-turvy face of the drooling beast. "I should think Ralgor's rather mad at this point," he squeaked.

In reply, Ralgor snorted a hot wave of breath from its nostrils.

"Indeed."

It shook Giles like a rag doll and threw him with all its might into his team-mates.

The Fyarl snorted again and went back to retrieve something from the shop.

"Really..." Giles moaned as he sat up, "I'm supposed to be taking it easy."

Picard was knelt beside him. "You said something about silver, Mr. Giles?"

The others crowded around, and Daniels looked out for the demon returning.

Giles, through tired breaths, explained: "A Fyarl Demon can only be stopped by a silver weapon... most likely to the heart."

"Killing this creature isn'tour priority," Picard stated. "Surely it can tell us more if we can secure it alive."

The Fyarl appeared from the hole in the building carrying the spherical device it had been protecting inside the shop when it first attacked Picard and Giles. "SMASH HEADS!" it bellowed. "CRUSH BRAINS! RALGOR LIKE TO CRUSH BRAINS _NOW_!"

"Create a diversion," ordered the captain with a sudden change of heart. "I'll try to locate something we can use against it."

"It has to be silver," said Giles.

"Understood."

The team moved out.

Picard took the lead – heading for the tricorder that lay only a few yards from the feet of the heavy-set demon. The Fyarl set its sights on him.

Daniels crossed between Picard and the beast, joining the others in waving and yelling at the monster.

Captain Picard retrieved the sensor unit and began a localised scan for anything that matched the electrochemical composition of the metal silver. He was picking up two matches. As luck would have it, the nearer one was back inside the shop. He slipped passed the distracted creature and made for the entrance to the building.

Inside, the dark store was quiet and calm. A far cry from just a few minutes before. At the rear was the reception counter, and around him there were still a number of shelf units standing, mostly against the remaining walls. He followed the readings of the tricorder to the corner by the counter. Two feet ahead, six feet up.

He looked up to see a short sword-like weapon displayed on the top shelf. Its sleeve and hilt were ornately decorated. It was an antique, no doubt, from some race or another. How it came to be on this world, he dreaded to think. He reached up for the weapon. This was no time to dwell on old alien artefacts when his team was in danger. As he brought the ornament down from its place, a figure came from behind the counter and took hold of it.

The shop owner – a robust, hairy character with no sign of a neck between his head and his body – held the sword by its sleeve and pulled it toward himself.

Picard held onto it. He noticed then that markings on the sheath were of an ancient and extinct race that once inhabited the planet S-446 in the Denii-Doltii system. To a collector it would make a fine prize indeed. A pity then, that it was needed for a fouler purpose.

"Release my stock, you _thief_!" the man spat.

"I'm afraid I don't have time for this," Picard responded and took grip of the hilt. He drew the old sword from the sleeve and pushed the man away. Picard ran from the shop, the owner crying profanities after him.

* * *

Beverly crashed to the grit floor as Daniels tried to trip the Fyarl at the legs. The massive forearm of the demon landed against his temple, and the creature lifted him sideways and pounded him into the shop wall. The officer gasped on impact, and tumbled to the ground.

Giles toyed with the demon. He circled it, waving his arms and clicking his fingers.

"RALGOR BREAK FINGERS!" it warned in its simple language. Simple, yes. But deadly nonetheless.

"I don't doubt you," Giles replied. He stopped still when Ralgor was facing away from the shop door. He tried to make use of all those wasted hours he'd spent watching the insane Australian Steve Irwin taming deadly spitting cobras or catching captive crocs. Not that he'd admit to it. He kept very calm with his hands out in submission and remained still.

Ralgor was in an aggressive stance. He breathed heavy through his wide bull-nostrils, drooling at the mouth. He could attack at any second.

_Danger, danger, danger!_ a voice rang in Giles' mind with a distinct Aussie accent. _This little beauty could take off my arm in a heartbeat!_

Ralgor's head was tilted forward, his eyes set on Giles.

_Crikey, this li'l bliter's a cranky critter!_

Giles stayed back and shushed the Fyarl gently. "It's alright. No one wants to hurt you. Calm down. Everything's good."

It seemed to ease Ralgor's temper to some degree.

_This is _intense_! Now, these yella-backed Fyarl Demons max-out at about seven-foot! And this one's fully-grown! ...Okay…okay, he's settled down... Now all I need to do... Is jump on its head!_

Giles shook the voice out of his mind. Perhaps Steve Irwin wasn't the greatest role model for such situations. He took one step closer to the Fyarl and spoke softly, looking deep into its eyes: "I understand what you're feeling. The rage, the need to destroy everything that stands in your path. I've felt it myself."

Ralgor listened to his words and did not strike.

"Try to think about... poppies... and whale-song. That's it..."

"Be SILENT, Watcher," Ralgor said, tensing up.

Giles almost swallowed his tongue with surprise at hearing the Fyarl speak so eloquently. "You know who I am?"

It did not respond, yet looked on him with a menacing grin.

After some consideration, Giles said, "You're the _Darkness_."

"If that is your name for me."

"How can a demon be your host?" he asked with fear. "Demon's have no soul."

"I see through the eyes of ALL my children," it replied smugly.

Giles scanned the street on either side of them.

"What are you looking for? You won't find me here. I am far from this place."

"W-where are you?" asked Giles.

The Fyarl laughed long and deep. "I shan't even dignify that with a response." The demon turned his horned head to one side, as if responding to something that wasn't there. Its eyes darted with thought for a time, then the demon's muscles suddenly loosened. "RALGOR...DIZZY," it grumbled, shaking its head.

Captain Picard stepped into the light and examined the sword. It was ancient indeed. So old that it was worn quite badly down. He felt sure that he was holding a priceless piece of history in his hands. Although the end of it was still at a point, the blade itself was nothing more than a smooth rod of silver. Well, _almost_ silver. Its chemical density was only out by point-five percent. It would have to do. The demon was facing away. Beyond it stood Giles. Picard took the sword in his grip...

...And the hilt fell off.

_Not_ _my fault_, he assured himself. _It_ is _old._ He raised the spike, and sped toward the beast. Ralgor heard the man's heavy footsteps and threw back his elbow. Picard caught it in the face and was knocked back. Ralgor turned, and loomed over him with its arms held out in a threatening manner. He wouldn't get close enough to make the kill now. The Fyarl took a step toward him and growled. The captain spotted Giles standing right behind the monster and tossed the spike over Ralgor's head.

Ralgor blinked in confusion...

Then roared with pain as Giles thrust the rod of silver through the demon's thick body, piercing its living-dead heart. Ralgor whined like a small animal, then huffed.

The beast toppled.

Dirt kicked up when the demon's heavy form struck the ground. The powder circled about them as it settled, but Ralgor did not move.

Unsurprisingly, the street was now deserted. All but Alpha Team had long-since fled.

Daniels hobbled across to Giles, salvaging the spherical device and another item from the dusty ground as he went. "I think these are yours, Mr. Giles," he said, handing him his prized spectacles.

Giles looked them over to find they were undamaged, and thanked the security chief.

"Is it...dead?" Daniels inquired.

"Quite dead," Giles confirmed.

Daniels nodded, the relief in his face apparent, and limped ahead to locate their transport co-ordinates. He rubbed at the numbness that had begun to tingle at his face. He probably had the mucus to thank for that.

"Good show!" Giles said heartily as he pulled himself together and went to Picard.

"Well done, Mr. Giles," offered the Captain in return.

"On the contrary, well done to _you_, Captain. You've helped slay your first demon."

Picard's expression creased at the thought of that. "I must say... We're not accustomed to so ruthlessly killing our enemies."

"You have to keep in mind, Captain Picard, that these creatures are not living people. They are harbingers of death and chaos."

"I'm beginning to realise that, Mr. Giles," sighed Picard.

"Rupert. Please, call me Rupert."

Picard smiled, allowing himself to feel a degree of elation.

The two men shook hands in triumph.

Beverly approached, fixing her hair. "Well, _Rupert_, do you do this sort of thing often?"

Giles came over a little shy as he had a habit of doing from time to time. "More than I'd care to admit, Doctor."

"_Beverly_," she corrected. "Seeing as we're apparently on first-name terms, it's Beverly. Isn't that right, _Jean-Luc_?"

Picard smiled somewhat forcedly, slightly less comfortable with the casual offering of his informal name.

Beverly smiled. She'd expected that reaction from him. That was, in fact, why she'd done it. She felt quite joyful with their victory and hooked her arms around the men's. She walked with Picard on one arm and Giles on the other. "So, Rupert," she said, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Really?" He did not meet her eyes, but smiled awkwardly.

"Mmm," she replied playfully as they walked away. "What exactly _is_ a 'Watcher'?"

Giles, enthused by her interest, happily explained, "Well..."

Away the Alpha Team went, leaving behind an abandoned street of dust and debris, and the corpse of their enemy.

Starfleet had championed over the north.

* * *

(I thought that I'd mention, since I have nothing else to say, that some of you may be surprised to learn that Lt. Daniels is a real character. You can see him in FIRST CONTACT and INSURRECTION. He holds Worf's old post and has blond hair. Look out for him.)

;-)


	21. Traders' World : Reunion

**- Traders' World -**

**--Reunion--**

_**21**_

**Beneath the Heart of the Targ:**

The elevator door opened to a vast great basement. Before them, large copper cylinders rose from the floor – up beyond the grid of a 2nd floor gangway – where they narrowed like funnels to thinner pipes that ran the rest of the way to the high ceiling.

"A private brewery," Troi whispered with just a hint of awe.

"Bootleggers?" Buffy offered.

But Troi shook her head. "There has to be a law against it for it to be bootlegging. There _are_ no laws here. Anything goes."

"Almost reminds me of home," said Buffy.

They found, some way further along, a ramp – possibly calved from a white substance similar to limestone. Their eyes followed it up to a 3rd floor higher than the gangways that were far above them. They stopped to listen. There were voices up there, just out of range to focus on clearly. The team remained silent from here on as Randall and Troi signalled an advance. So, quietly, the 4 members of Gamma Team ascended the ramp.

As they drew near the top of the slope, a low wall that ran up beside them became an ornamental balustrade. Once on a flat level again, they now had a better view of their surroundings. They were about 6 feet above the 2nd floor metal gangway of expanded mesh – in the familiar pattern that left diamond-shaped openings in the floor – but not yet up to the 3rd floor. If the 3rd floor could indeed be called a floor, as it only took up a small area at the far end of the chamber and overlooked the brewing facility. Ahead of them was a set of steps leading to the top level of this enormous brewing chamber and the voices up there grew louder.

To Buffy's ears it sounded as though someone was talking about opening a vault. She wasn't sure.

Troi gasped as a sudden rush of empathic feedback took her by surprise.

"Counsellor?" Randall whispered in concern, disregarding protocol and using her title.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "But...I'm sensing the most violent of emotions ... such murderous thoughts. And ... satisfaction. Like someone finding what they came for at last."

That could only mean one thing. And they were out of time.

From over the balustrade of the 3rd floor came the rattle of an old cog-run mechanism and the creek of a heavy door that reverberated off the walls around them.

Buffy broke into a sprint – up the stairs and towards the noise.

The other team members followed as quickly as they could.

The Slayer hit the 3rd level running. She came to a long table surrounded by chairs – a meeting area – and jumped onto it, still running. As she jumped back to the floor, she saw ahead of her the large vault door. And a rough-looking man gripping the limp body of a Klingon in both hands.

A man with yellow skin.

Data!

His dark hair was an unkempt, feverish mess. And his face, from just below the right eye, tracing a line down his cheek, bore a deep cut that displayed his inner workings when his mouth moved a certain way. He wore brown, worn trousers that were cut-off beneath the knees by a pair of heavy boots, each held in place by a row of magnetic buckles and his hands were mostly covered – all but his finger ends – by dark woollen gloves. Under the coat were several more layers of dark clothing. Polo-necked undershirt, a sweater, and some kind of torn waist-jacket. All probably stolen from a miner in this very Territory. All but the metallic armband that was fastened around his right forearm.

The android examined the Slayer carefully as she stopped just metres away from him.

"Drop the Klingon," she demanded.

Data complied immediately and opened his hands. The body dropped to the floor. Dead weight.

On the ground next to the fresh corpse sat a curious cylindrical device with an internal red glow.

Data stood tall and looked Buffy up and down. He seemed to be accessing files, as he had done in the conferences on the Enterprise, and understanding slowly crept to his rather more human-like face. "Aah, Slayer, we meet at last."

Buffy blinked. "You _do_ realise how corny that line is, right?"

The others arrived and Data stood before them proudly. "YOU cannot stop me."

"Funny," Buffy retorted, "that's just what the Master said right before I kicked his ass."

"You have no concept of MY power," he informed her.

"Really? So, seeing as you're SOoo powerful, why aren't you out taking over the galaxy? Or did you need to stop off for groceries on the way?"

"I am forever. No mortal can defeat me."

"Yeah; 'blaa, blaa'. We _get_ that," she mocked. "I've _been_ dead already, and look – still here. If that doesn't qualify as immortality then whoever makes the qualifying rules oughta be disqualified. And you wont be the first man-machine to underestimate _this_ Slayer's power. By the way, did you happen to read Macbeth?"

Data responded with a hairy eyeball.

Deanna stepped forward cautiously. "Data?" His appearance was quite shocking to her.

"I'm sorry, Counsellor, Data's not responding to hails right now. But if you'd like to leave a message..." A low growling laugh rose in his artificial throat. "My dear Counsellor Troi. Come to appeal to my emotions have you? They send you to talk me down?" He began to move closer to Troi but Buffy reacted by taking a step closer to him.

He froze and watched her with narrowed eyes.

"Deanna, my dear," he went on. "If I am still the Data you know ... then how is it that I can tell you to GO SCREW YOURSELF!" His face distorted with new-found rage.

"What happened to you?" Deanna appealed.

Feeling at the edges of his torn face, Data's tongue played over his teeth as he recalled a recent memory. "Never underestimate a Ferengi with one ear," he advised.

"That's not what I meant," said Troi.

"Really? Well, Counsellor, I would be more concerned with what is about to happen to YOU." Data's face grew dark at that and his hands formed into fists as he came toward them.

Deanna drew her hidden actuation device, but Randall was already on his trigger. The shot of energy took the android clean off his feet and sent him into a stack of plasticrete crates. Data's body hit the floor and should have remained still, the phaser energy having shorted his systems, but Data was protected from the shot by the dark force of Evil, and the physical wound that would have killed a living person barely slowed the android down.

As he came to his feet, Deanna decided it was time to simulate actual 'death' in Data so that the Darkness would be forced from him. She aimed the device...

And hit the trigger.

Data's entire body suddenly switched off and keeled over. He hit the ground face-first and rested there.

"Now what?" Troi asked anxiously.

Willow pulled the small pouch from out of her clothing and tugged it free. "Now I–"

Randall let out a harsh gasp. Then spun at them with a demonic snarl. His pistol came up as he made to shoot them with it.

Buffy went to intercept the possessed officer, but clearly would not make it in time.

His weapon took aim.

And a single beam of energy erupted from Troi's secret hand phaser, burning a hole in Randall's midriff.

Darkness went airborne again.

Randall's used shell folded. By the time it hit the floor, his body was a withered waste of grey flesh. The Evil, in such a short time, had ravaged him. There was NO survival from possession.

Willow didn't hesitate this time. "Stand close to me!" she commanded and held the pouch aloft. "Xu'Lla'Vas, protector of souls, safeguard our mortal vessels from Darkness!"

They watched as the pouch began to glow with a golden aura.

"Take this, our offering, and keep us safe from harm!" The gold light engulfed the small bag and it faded away, leaving Willow's hand empty.

"How long will the spell hold?" Buffy whispered.

Willow went sour-faced. "U-Until the offering fades in a flash of goldish light," she said. "Thereabouts."

_Oh._

Data twitched.

The 3 women huddled together as the android drew himself upright. "I have no time for this!" he spat. With a sudden burst of inhuman speed, he took the glowing device by a handle on its top, and ran to the low balustrade wall. He stopped there for a moment, perched on the rail, and looked back at them with a winning grin. He winked.

With the force of Darkness within him, and with the amazing strength of a machine, Data leapt from the balustrade – far across the chamber – and vanished into the field of upturned copper funnels.

Buffy followed. She went over the railing and dropped to the mid-level where the expanded metal catwalk skirted around the funnel-like brewery tanks. Her feet met the metal platform. She cursed as she slowly manoeuvred around the large tanks of fermenting ale. She knew it was ale now because the smell was quite distinct. Beneath her feet lay the diamond-grid gangway and through that she saw a sheer drop to the ground floor. But what really troubled her was the fact that she couldn't see her target. She couldn't even sense his presence around her like she could with most vamps and even some demons. And there was that other troublesome bit of fact.

Data was a machine. Not a creature with limits, but a robot. The only other humanoid robot she had faced before had been Ted – her mom's psycho ex-robo-boyfriend. Ted had been strong. He was only defeated when she had damaged his circuitry. But Buffy figured that Data was somewhat more advanced. He was probably built to take a nuclear blast. He was the damn TERMINATOR. Needless to say she didn't much like playing hide-and-seek with a possessed robot.

_Gimme something with a heart_, she thought. _Something I can plunge a knife into_.

There was a sudden flash of movement to her right. With a flurry of brown robes, she felt herself being swept off her feet. Gliding backward through the air in the grip of a yellow and brown blur, she saw, for a fractional moment, Data's distinct features – twisted into the maniacal grin of a savage beast. Then he fell away from her sight as she soared upward over one of the tanks, narrowly missing the vertical pipe rising from it, and crashed back to the deck, scraping her elbows as she slid to a stop on the catwalk.

Quickly, she rolled back into a crouch and waited for him to appear from behind the copper tank. She stayed low so as not to leave herself too open to attack. But nothing happened.

Buffy allowed herself a few seconds to rub her chafed elbows. Just as she began to wonder if Data was creeping up on her from behind... There he was.

His shabby and determined form slipped into view at 70 frames per second. At least that's how Buffy perceived it.

He seemed to slip from behind the tank in movie-style slow-motion. His long coat drifting around his legs. Darkness in his eyes. Those eyes fixed on hers.

Showtime.


	22. Traders' World : SpaceWalk

**- Traders' World -**

**--Space-Walk--**

_**22**_

**Onboard the shuttlecraft Narayan:**

The EVA locker onboard the Narayan was open. In it were a number of parts that made up a Starfleet spacesuit. There was also a large white case of some kind that Freeman had removed from the locker.

"It can take weeks to learn how to operate an E.V.A. suit," Freeman explained to a numb Xander. "You've got about eight and a half minutes."

Freeman had to sympathise with the young fella. He looked like a shuttle pilot caught in the forward running lights of a starship. His face was almost whiter than white. The captain took Xander's shoulders and gave them a squeeze, both to reassure him and to physically bring him into the here-and-now. "Look on the bright side, soldier. At least we won't be using the transporter."

* * *

Once Dave had shown him how to clamp his mag-boots on and secured them to the deck, Xander managed to couple his legs and gloves onto the body of his suit himself. Generally the suit was of an off-white colour, but it had an odd chest plate of crimson red. On Xander's left forearm and thigh were small control panels.

With the main body of their suits on, Freeman lifted a huge helmet over Xander's head and clamped it for him. In turn, he returned the favour. Though the helmet had a lot of space in it and had a fair few glass panels that gave him a wide field of view, Xander could not help but feel claustrophobic.

Dave switched on the suits' atmosphere processors. "You uncomfortable?" he inquired.

Xander shrugged. Or at least he tried. The helmet covered much of his shoulder yet, with the lack of gravity, it weighed next to nothing. "There's a reason I'm not a deep-sea diver," he replied.

"Look," said the captain gently, "I know you're not too keen on what's out that door." He quickly checked Xander's suit was secure. "But it's time to face your fears." Freeman turned to go.

"W-what are _you_ afraid of?" Xander found himself asking.

Dave looked back at him. "I'm afraid to die," he said flatly and honestly. "That's why you'll be safe with me." And, with a clank and thud of his boots, Freeman made for the cockpit once again.

Eventually, breath came back to Xander and he breathed in the suit's artificial environment. He looked down at his body and stared in sheer disbelief of what he was wearing and what he was about to do. "Rollercoaster ride," he whispered. "You're going on a rollercoaster ride, that's all. You paid your money so you're damned if you're leavin' without tryin' the main attraction." With his frame of mind set, he picked up his heavy feet one at a time and shuffled after the captain.

* * *

Even after Freeman had decompressed the cabin, when he finally opened the shuttle's hatch Xander expected to be sucked out into the void.

"Go ahead – take a look. This is as close to freedom as you'll ever be," Dave said with awe.

Xander reluctantly, and very carefully, edged forward until he could see straight out and straight down. A kind of seasickness hit him.

There were layers of purple gas drifting over layers of red, with patches of green scattered beneath that. Occasionally two oppositely charged gas pockets collided and sparked with lightning. All the layers gave the scene before him so much depth. And beyond all of that, further and further beyond, lay the infinite expanse of space.

_A man could fall forever out there_, Xander realised. He suddenly felt the pressing urge to pee.

* * *

Xander had arrived in the cockpit to find Freeman wearing the big white case on his back, and there were buckled straps of some sort attached to his chest plate.

"A flight pack," Freeman had told him. And the straps at the front were where Xander would be fastened. Freeman wanted to be sure that Xander made it to the other shuttle.

It wasn't long before Freeman was perched on the edge of the open hatchway with Xander's back clamped to his chest.

Xander felt extremely uncomfortable, even in this circumstance, about having his ass so close to another guy's crotch. "Hey," he called back to Dave, "when you tell people what happened here ... you maybe wanna leave this part out?"

"I'm way ahead of you, pal," Freeman replied, and suddenly stepped out of the shuttle.

Xander felt the shuttle floor leave him unexpectedly and his breath caught in his throat. Otherwise he may have screamed. Xander managed to call out: "What happened to 'Ready, Steady–"

Freeman fired up the thruster pack.

"GOOOOoooooooo!" Xander's voice carried through the cloud as they zipped through it at speed. The thrusters went out and the pair continued on towards the Hannigan under the momentum of the spent rockets. The shuttle grew closer at quite a rate and Dave warned him to be ready. They were almost on top of it.

They held up their legs the way Freeman had earlier instructed and, just as their feet grazed the hull of the Hannigan, the boots locked onto the shuttle and held them there.

They were on the roof of the Hannigan.

Xander's body relaxed. He was surprised how tense he'd been out there.

Freeman uncoupled himself and told Xander to stay put and not to touch anything on his suit. Just in case.

Dave removed the flight pack and allowed it to drift away, then moved along the roof. He looked back to see that Xander was scanning their surroundings feverishly. "It helps to have something to focus on," he said into his Comm. "Think of the mission, Harris. Always remember the _mission_." Freeman knelt down by a hatch on the roof of the shuttle.

Xander slowly and steadily came to look over his shoulder. "How do we get inside?"

"Maintenance port."

There was a relay panel inset with several isolinear chips, a small control panel and a diagnostic screen. Freeman worked the buttons. "The crew _are_ dead. The shield generators are shot and it looks like we've lost warp. Still, everything else is working within perimeters. We need to get the door open." But the switch on the door itself would not open while they were in space. He'd have to work some magic of his own. "I'm overriding security protocols to access the hatch controls from here."

Xander watched him work the controls intensively. Anything not to look up.

Dave explained as he went. He told Xander how the isolinear chips were set up to monitor systems, and how he was re-arranging them so that he could gain access to the command relays and get control of the shuttle from the outside.

"This shouldn't be possible," The captain admitted as he placed the final chip and powered up the control panel again. He tapped a few of the buttons and soon the side-door to the small vessel hissed with escaping air and opened up.

Freeman shrugged at Xander. "A little trick I learned wiring frigates as a kid." He got up and headed around to the door. "Just...don't mention that to anyone," he added, tapping his helmet where the nose would be.

Xander followed him over the side and into the smaller shuttle. He was eternally thankful when the door finally shut behind them.

Dave was stood over the bodies of two of his people. Xander had never seen them before, though one was badly burned on the face. The other had a shard of shrapnel embedded in the throat.

Xander tried to bite his lip, but had to ask: "How come they weren't sucked out?"

"Forcefield," he replied with sadness, raising his hand until a blue wall shimmered before them. "Their families have a right to bury them. Besides... I had to know who they were." Freeman shut off the field and removed his helmet as the trapped air and the freshly recycled air circulated again.

Xander unclamped his own helmet and lifted it off. "I'm sorry," he offered, finding a hand phaser in a nearby compartment and throwing it to Freeman. "But you'll have to finish them... sooner or later. Better that they keep their dignity and die dead."

Dave eyed the phaser in his hand with disdain, and looked down at his crewmen. His extended family. "They'll really come back like...like–?"

"Just like that Klingon zombie," Xander finished. He saw the captain's inner struggle, so slipped out a second phaser for himself. He aimed at the nearer body. "I could–" But then he realised... he couldn't. Not unless they turned on him.

Freeman gripped his weapon tightly. "It's okay. I got it." He checked the setting... and aimed. Some moments later, he fired. And vaporised Lieutenant Vladewski. He closed his eyes in immediate regret. Next was Ensign Tate. Tate was burnt badly, but it still felt inhuman to destroy what was left of her. Never the less, he aimed... and hesitated.

Tate hissed out loud and shot up from the deck at Freeman; his weapon flying from his grip. He shouted out in alarm as she pushed him into the wall.

Xander looked down at his gun, not wanting to mess up this time. On it were two buttons. One was 'Fire', so he tapped the other. This added a green light onto a tiny bar. _The setting!_ He lit half the green LED's and shot the zombie point-blank in the back. It shrieked with pain as it melted away before his eyes.

Freeman didn't move from the wall. He simply eyed Xander. "You ready to get outta here?" he asked.

"Hell, yeah."

With that, they moved to the front and got the shuttle underway.

Neither one of them looked back.


	23. Traders' World : Unmasked And Exposed

**- Traders' World -**

**--Unmasked And Exposed--**

_**23**_

**Somewhere in the west of Traders' World:**

Spike was midway through enjoying his rather foul beer when a shadow loomed over him from behind the counter.

"You're face is bothering my customers," the barman said to Spike. "Drink-up and _leave_."

"_My_ face?" he scoffed. The vampire scanned the room. There was one guy... no. It couldn't be. It WAS. His head was completely transparent. You could see his damn _brain_!

"When was the last time _they_ looked in a mirror?" Spike replied with a smirk. But the barman was not impressed.

"If it helps, I can take it off," he added. Spike was met with puzzlement, so he let his human face return. Unfortunately he hadn't stopped to think first, and this action was met with disgust.

"Just pay and get out, _freak_!" the green barman shouted.

"Pay? ... I thought things were free in this universe..."

"Only within the confines of Starfleet!. Are you one of THEM?!"

"_Snoozefleet_? Hell, no!"

"Then pay up, stranger."

"I-I...I don't actually have..." feeling around in his own pockets and finding something, he held up a shiny coin to the hostile group that had formed around him. "...I've got a quarter..."

Bad move.

He hit the badge on his inner jacket. "Spike to...ship!" _Hell! What was it? _"_Enterprise_!" he recalled. "Spike to _Enterprise_!"

"Ensign Scott here. Is there a problem?"

_Ensign SCOTT? Where's Warren THIS time?_

"You ARE Starfleet!" the barman roared. "GET HIM!"

_Is there a problem?_ "That's puttin' it a bit mildly," Spike whimpered as the hostile crowd began to move in on him.

A blue man was the first to attack Spike – clambering over a chair to reach him – and Spike cut him down with a jab to the gullet. A sharp back-kick took out the guy with the brain for a face. Two more came at once; one small with pointed ears and a harsh scowl, another tall and slimy.

Spike went low and rammed a fist into the gut of the small one. He spun to the one that looked like an anorexic Swamp-Thing, twisted its arm and smashed its head into the nearest table. He caught a bottle in his free hand and a side-kick did away with the alien on the other end of it. He broke the bottle over Swampies head as the little angry elf returned for his second-helpings. Spike dropped and took out the elf's legs.

When he stood, he was met with a hard plastic chair right across his back. The seat shattered on impact and, though stunned at first, Spike came back – taking the fat orange-skinned creature by the collar and hurling him into the crowd.

There were many at the far side of the bar who couldn't get to Spike. Most couldn't even see what was happening. They were so eager to join in that they happily settled for fighting each other, and the bar fell into chaos. The naked girls were screaming as they either climbed their poles, hid up on the podiums, or fled toward the back room.

The elf with the thick forehead came again for his dessert. Spike decided to give him ice-cream punch. The elf came foaming at the mouth. Spike stopped him with a vamped punch, and the alien fell away with a scream.

I-scream Punch.

He soon re-thought his choice of strategy when he caught sight of the barman lifting out a laser gun from beneath the counter.

_Oh, crap!_ He quickly pressed the badge again. "Scotty... beam me up!"


	24. Traders' World : Showtime

**- Traders' World -**

**--Showtime--**

_**24**_

**Beneath the Heart of the Targ:**

Showtime.

They ran at each other.

Buffy went low to sweep his legs, but Data jumped clear – using the slope of a nearby tank for footing to come back down on her with an elbow to the face. She was knocked back a few feet by his power, but speedily composed herself despite the pain in her cheek.

Data stood there. Waiting for her next move.

So she gave it to him, going at him with a backhand. He blocked it easily and punched her hard in the same cheek again. The Slayer fell to her knees despite herself.

"Still think you're Macduff?" he teased.

"No," she replied, and sprang into action. She cartwheeled at him, catching him off-guard with her kicks, then she brought both legs up to kick his head. Data ducked and her feet passed over him, Just as she had expected, so – just before she went down – Buffy kicked out a second time and landed a good one in his ear. This gave her the chance to land and take his legs out from under him. Data went down hard as the Slayer flipped onto her feet and readied herself.

"More like Mac_Buff_," she finished.

When Data tried getting up, it would give her another chance to attack.

He rolled onto his front and began to get up onto his hands and knees.

Perfect.

She ran at him like an American Football kicker and aimed a foot for his gut. But he caught her by the ankle. Before she even realised her plan had failed, she was swung up into the air and slammed back to the steely platform with a crash.

Her vision refocused just in time to see Data above her, dropping out of the air with an outstretched elbow. Rolling out of the way with less than a second to spare before he smashed into the metal mesh, she decided to give him a taste of his own poison and toss _him_ across the room. See how _he_ liked it. When she tried, however, he caught her yet again in his unyielding clamp-like grip. He held her at arms-length by her wrists.

She decided to use that against him. Buffy ran up Data's body until she was almost upside-down and kicked him hard in the head, continuing to flip over in a 360 to free herself.

But Data went unnerved by her retaliation and his hold on her was unrelenting. Her arms came close to popping their sockets as her wrists were forced to turn within the android's inhumanly tight grip. She yelped at the sudden pain.

Data let her arms go and pounded both fists into her chest sending her flying once more to the platform where she rolled helplessly onto her stomach. She got up quickly as the hell-bent machine came at her again.

Buffy's robe had come away from her in the awkward landing, but her arms were still in the sleeves, so she quickly came up with her next counter-move.

As Data made a grab for her, she leapt up into an overhead roll, wrapping Data's head in the cloak, and landing on one knee.

They remained that way for a moment; with her crouched on the deck facing away from him holding still to the sleeves of the hooded coat that Data clawed at around his face. Then she pulled.

The evil android fell onto her back and she flipped him right over her so that he crashed face-first into the platform. The Slayer didn't pause there; jumping onto his back and pulling with all her strength on the robe that still surrounded his head. Data's head tilted back unnaturally and Buffy thought she might very well rip it right off. Any thought of trying to save Data had gone completely out of her mind at that point. He was _far_ too dangerous to risk easing up on him while she had the upper hand.

"Looks like I got you on the ropes now, Threepio," she boasted.

Data mumbled something unrecognisable under the cloth.

"I'm sorry? I didn't quite catch that," she teased.

Again, he tried to speak through the cloth.

Buffy tutted loudly. "Now you're just not making sense. Jeez, I hope you're not losing...your head." She pulled harder on the robe, taking Data's head to the limit of its flexibility.

Then the sleeves tore.

Buffy reeled back and managed to keep her balance.

Data shot up and pulled the armless robe away from his enraged face.

She viewed the loose sleeves in her hands and whimpered, "Ooh." _You would have thought they'd have invented clothes that don't rip by now!_ "I guess they still make 'em like they used to," she groaned.

There were thin pipes protruding from each of the many tanks around them. They came out from the sides and disappeared below the platform. Each was made up of several segments held together with bolts.

Data roared as he kicked one of the nearest pipes free at one end. He took it in both hands and ripped it out, wielding it like a bat.

The Slayer ducked as he swung it at her head. She rolled away, hearing the pipe slam against one of the copper funnels. But when she came up... He was gone.

"Great," she uttered. Figuring that he must have moved around the tank, out of site enough to surprise her with an attack, she moved close to it and ventured around its circumference carefully. She kept quiet and listened for any telltale sounds. Certainly not breathing, though.

_Robots suck_, she decided there and then. _They definitely suck_. And she hoped never to set eyes on one again after today. What she did not see, however, was what was happening above her.

Data perched on top of the funnel holding onto the vertical piping with one hand and his makeshift weapon with the other.

She didn't have to see him. She had a feeling.

Data pounced.

Buffy broke her own pipe free with her bare hands and spun with it in time to block the android's attack. They were locked. Their weapons pushing against each other with great force as the pair faced each other.

Data's face was twisted with hatred and anger, yet it was still the face of a machine. But his eyes. His eyes were a black hole of Darkness that gave Buffy's spine a cold shower of needles. Buffy herself bore her usual calm determination.

They pushed against each other harder. Buffy found she was beginning to bend back under Data's strength. This clearly wasn't going to end in her favour unless she changed the game a little. So she gave in, and feinted to the side.

Data's momentum carried him forward and Buffy spun and cracked the pipe into Data's skull. A great spark burst from the android's head with the impact, and he fell to the floor in 'shock'.

The Slayer put herself into position with the pipe held as though it was a sword in front of her. She was in some kind of martial arts pose. But she couldn't recall which one at that moment.

Data stood, still holding his pipe tightly in one hand. His eyes closed briefly as he checked internal damage. But when they opened they were filled with dark determination once again. He brought the pipe up before his face in salute, and stepped into the 'en garde' position.

Buffy recognised his stance as being that of fencing, though she had no experience of it herself. He stared right at her with his empty eyes. Deep, soulless eyes.

She shivered.

Data advanced. He lunged at her with a chest attack. She blocked and returned a blow, which he parried. Sparks flew as the metal pipes collided.

The android continued with his forward attacks; each one failing as the Slayer blocked his lame manoeuvres easily. Spark after spark after spark.

He soon gave in, realising he had knowledge beyond that stored in Data's files. "It seems Commander Data has recently taken up fencing," he said. "Whereas _I_ am more accustomed to wielding a _Broadsword_." He pounced on her with raw power blows. Pounding her weapon with his, he beat her down. With one final blow, he sent Buffy's pipe rattling across the walkway. He swung at her, and she ducked low – going into a roll toward her weapon. When she came up to evaluate her position, Data drew back his pipe.

Realising he was going to throw it at her, and knowing his aim would be perfect, she moved closer to a nearby tank. On the face of the tank was a closed hatch. A peephole to the contents inside. She had one hope.

He aimed for her face and hurled the pipe with force.

The Slayer snatched the hatch open and the missile ricocheted off its metal surface. When she looked out from behind the face-guard, she found Data was gone yet again. But this time she had no intention of going after him. Instead she carefully made for the nearer of the two pipes that lay on the gridded metal catwalk. And he came as if from nowhere.

Data caught the Slayer by the throat and lifted her a little, slamming her against the opening in the tank.

She was ensnared. Unable to free herself. Her legs hung above the surface of the floor. Her fists and feet were no more than a soft breeze against the machine's unfeeling body. She tried to speak, but only managed a harsh wheeze through the tightness of her throat. He forced her head back until it was within the tank, and he tilted it around enough for her to see the faint glimmer of light reflecting off of the gallons of ale that filled it. The bitter smell of alcohol rose up to greet her.

"I wonder," he spat at her, "how long you would have to ferment in there before your tedious sarcasm would dilute enough to grate less on my ears."

The edges of Buffy's vision began to fade to blackness; sparks of light twinkling across her line of sight. She began to fall away from the world of the living.

Then Data reacted to something out the corner of his eye. He released her neck and dragged her around the tank as a blast of phaser fire came down on them and skimmed its copper surface.

Troi.

Data was leant tight against the brewing tank with Buffy held against him, her back against his front with his arm across her collar. His head snapped up when he realised what was ahead of them.

Buffy coughed, and followed his gaze to see the large, glowing cylindrical device out in the open, in clear line of fire, just 3 metres away.

She had no idea what it was for, but no doubt it fitted into some kind of plan that the Darkness within Data had formed.

"You're not going to make it, you know," she said, pain burning her windpipe with every word. "We know you're plan. You'll never reach the Hellmouth."

"Small words uttered by a small being," he retorted, recounting an instant in Data's memory files when a certain Borg-Queen had said the same thing to him. "Deceive yourself all you want, Slayer. My power is infinite." He adjusted himself slightly. "Ask yourself this: Even if your meagre witch finds a way to bind me... what then? Time moves on. Ages pass. And, when you are nothing more than a distant memory, I will rise again and claim ALL life. There IS no success. No triumph for you. Your efforts will come to NOTHING."

"If we bind you," Buffy argued, "it'll be forever. We'll make sure of it."

Data laughed at that. "I was speaking hypothetically, you sorry mortal! I will NOT be bound again."

"We'll see," she muttered.

Then a shrill beep came from Data's armband. He lifted his arm and Buffy saw on the unit a small screen. The image on it was unclear – filled with static. Probably due to the energy field that surrounded this massive room. But there was also another display on the band. It had an alien writing scrolling across it. Some sections were missing – again due the interference no doubt.

"That would be my cue to leave this reunion," Data said finally. He spun Buffy around and picked her off the ground by her clothes with both fists. Bringing her face close to his, he recited Macbeth:

" 'When shall we meet again?

In thunder, lightening or in rain? ...

When the hurly-burly's done.

When the battle's lost and won.' "

He tossed her to the catwalk and ran out into the open. Shots of phaser fire burned past him – some so close they scorched his clothing – but none managed to meet their target. He swept the device up with one hand and leapt high into the air. When he landed, it was with such force that the platform beneath him folded like paper and he slipped through, free-falling the 100-or-so feet to the basement floor.

Buffy watched, open-mouthed, through the diamond-holes in the expanded metal as Data's feet smashed into the hard ground. But he remained on them. In fact, he fled at some speed, running for the elevator and vanishing from site.

He left with Buffy lying on her kicked ass, a hole in the platform, and two crushed circles of ground where his feet had landed beneath her. She didn't even bother to get up right away.

Buffy knew that, by the time they caught up with him, he'd have gotten well outside the Wetting field that surrounded them down here and have beamed safely away. Besides, she didn't much fancy round 2 right now. She closed her eyes, laid back, and massaged her sore larynx with her fingers. Finally some peace. She could have stayed there for hours like that. Or so she thought, until a slimy hiss roused her.

She peeled back her eyelids to find herself confronted with a misshapen figure.

It was the Klingon! The dead one! He drew closer to her gradually, drooling in anticipation – hands grasping out for her – eyes white and hollow. Data's parting gift to her.

"Oh, gimme a break!" she groaned.

One sudden flash of orange phaser energy later, and it was nothing more than a steaming wisp of hot gas that quickly dissipated.

Troi appeared holding a small phaser pistol in one slightly shaky hand. "Are you alright?"

Buffy nodded as she sat upright.

Not far behind Troi came Willow. "Where's Data...D-Darkness?"

"Gone," replied Buffy, glancing over to the hole in the platform.

Willow followed her glance. "We showed him, huh? Ran off like a scaredy-pup."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed without much belief in her words, "we showed him."

* * *

(QUOTES: Macbeth - by William Shakespeare.) 


	25. Traders' World : Conclusion

**- Traders' World -**

**--Conclusion--**

_**25**_

When Gamma Team finally arrived on the bridge of the Enterprise, most of the others were already present – still in their disguises. Ambassador Worf and Chancellor Martok were inspecting the tactical post. Spike was lingering with an expression of sheer boredom, until he saw Buffy appear from the elevator. For a second his whole being beamed with a mix of relief and joy. He quickly gathered himself.

The Slayer didn't even notice. She barely even registered him.

They saw that Giles was within a huddle that had formed around the rear engineering station. Commander La Forge was sat there examining a metallic sphere the size of a football. It had blinking lights and circuitry about its surface. Around him, watching eagerly, were Captain Picard, Commander Riker, and the former Watcher.

Willow and Buffy made their way over to him and both drew near. Willow rested a comforting hand on his arm. The three of them shared a quiet smile. They were each pleased to see that they were all unharmed.

After a brief explanation of their own misadventure, Troi and the two Scoobs listened to Picard and Giles' description of their Fyarl encounter.

When the account was over, Picard added: "We were able to recover this." He pointed to the sphere beside La Forge.

The engineer spun in his seat. "Near as I can tell, it's a cloak enhancer."

"Enhancer?" Riker puzzled.

"That's right," La Forge confirmed. "Capable of generating enough output to extend a Bird of Prey's cloak to...maybe ten times its original specifications. Possibly more. I doubt it's ever been tested."

Riker was astonished and disturbed. "Ten times? What was he trying to cloak A _planet_?"

"He was most likely attempting to cloak his entire fleet of shuttles," Worf said from tactical. He examined the screen there and continued: "The Rutherford has recorded near to a hundred individual shuttles departing from the asteroid field."

The captain acknowledged the information.

"Looks like you had better luck than us," said Riker, turning back to Picard. "We managed to let one of those creatures escape with another device."

Worf grumbled. "The..._thing_...had mind-controlling abilities."

"But we _were_ able to identify the device," Riker pointed out.

Worf handed La Forge the tricorder with the recorded information. "It was a tachyon diffuser."

The engineer's face dropped. "If that's true, then it may be impossible to detect the Bird of Prey."

"Well, there's no hiding the fleet of shuttles he's stolen," said Picard. "Not now that we have this." He indicated the cloak enhancer again.

"I am afraid I discovered nothing," Martok admitted.

"At least you all got closure," moaned Spike, not at all pleased that he'd had to bail out of a potentially fun brawl just as he was getting in the swing.

"And Data's _gone_," Troi reported sadly. "He's totally lost to the evil that's within him. Also, these actuation devices" – she pulled hers from her robe – "don't work. The entity rebooted Data's systems from the inside."

"That reminds me," Giles said, "there's a point I should make. Though I'm not sure if it will be of any importance. But, the Darkness can only exist, physically, in the body of a mortal. Demons and the dead are only fit to be its slaves. But the host must have a soul. The soul is what breathes life into the body and it is through the soul that it can claim the body as its own. Like a…a living womb."

There was a pause filled with quiet contemplation.

Worf perked up: "We're receiving a message from the Rutherford. They have picked up the trail of the shuttle fleet, sir."

"Very well," said the captain. "Lay in a pursuit course and engage at maximum warp." He turned to the others. "In the meantime, we shall report to sickbay for the Bajoran implants removing."

* * *

After a brief detour by the U.S.S. Rutherford to collect the damaged Narayan from a cloud pocket, the 2 Starships gave chase out of the Territory – hot on the heels of the enemy.

* * *

On the bridge of the Rutherford, Freeman nodded with satisfaction when Chevva confirmed they were underway. "Come on," he said, leading Xander to the turbolift.

Both men stepped in and Freeman called: "If you need me, I'll be in holodeck one." And the doors shut as he asked for Deck 5.

The lift set off, and Freeman let himself relax for the first time since they got back on...slightly more solid ground. "You're pretty impressive with a phaser," he said to Xander.

"Yeah?" he replied. "That was nothin'. I can strip a nail-gun in under forty-five seconds!"

Freeman chuckled. "Are you busy, Harris?" he asked.

"I...should go check in with Anya," he replied. "She's probably on a worry-factor of about ten."

The captain frowned at him.

"She'll be worried. She always worries. She worries when I slay, she worries when I work. Thinks I'll cut something off one day. Always havin' nightmares I'll come home after a hard day's sloggin' missing an arm... or a head."

"Sounds like big love to me," Dave observed. "What is it you do? For work?"

"Construction."

"Ah. You build things. Somehow that doesn't surprise me." After a beat, Freeman continued, "Go see her. Tell her you're okay. If you don't want to worry her, don't let on how close we came to... well... I'll back you up if she asks."

"Thanks. Last thing I need is to have her hyper-panicky."

"I _do_ want you to do me a favour in return, however."

It was Xander's turn to frown.

"Meet me outside holodeck one in twenty minutes. I'm sure you'll find it easily enough. It's on your floor."

Xander's frown persisted.

As the lift came to rest at Xander's stop – his quarters on Deck 5 – Dave explained: "I'd like you to run through some basic training programs. For my own peace-of-mind if for no other reason."

Xander agreed to whatever the captain expected of him, and left to call in on his girl.

* * *

Three quarters of an hour later, Picard's readyroom door hissed apart to reveal Commander Riker; now fully human and in his black and grey uniform.

"Reporting for duty, Captain."

Picard looked up from a PADD. "Come in, Will."

Riker threw a thumb back to the closing doors. "I notice we haven't caught up to those shuttles yet."

"And we're not going to for some time. I've had our speed reduced to warp one."

Riker frowned.

"I've received a coded message. New orders from Command regarding our pursuit of the fleet," the captain explained. "They're on a course for Earth, and it's safe so assume that the Bird of Prey is with them."

"All the more reason to stop them now. Before they reach Earth."

Picard inclined his head in agreement. Riker could see there was a 'but' coming up.

"It seems that the Klingons have a ship in sector one. They've taken a keen interest in the outcome of this mission and are posting their ship in wait behind the sixth moon of the Epsilon Ursae system. ANegh'Var-class attack cruiser."

"The most powerful ship in the Klingon fleet," Riker said in wonder.

"Precisely. And we're heading right into its path."

"A trap?"

Picard nodded.

Riker looked more than a little perturbed. "Starfleet's putting a lot of faith in a simple trap. If it doesn't work, Data will reach Earth in a matter of hours."

"That's why we have to make it work," Picard said.

"It'll be rough."

"Extremely."

A moment later, Riker spoke: "Then I'll see that we don't get too close to their tail, Captain." He began to leave, but turned to inspect Picard's weary face. "Something else bothering you, sir?"

Picard looked up from his tactical reports, gave Riker's question some thought, and admitted: "It's something Rupert said."

"Rupert?"

Picard shook his head. "Mr. Giles."

"Oh. You mean about this 'Darkness' needing a host with a heart."

Picard's nostrils flared as he breathed in; in the way Riker recognised as his captain suddenly becoming intense about the topic they were discussing. "Not a heart," he corrected. "A _soul_." Picard lay down the PADD in his hand. "Do you realise what that means, Number One? Data truly _is_ alive."

He got up from his desk and moved around it. "I defended him when Starfleet wished to prove he was nothing more than a machine!" He stepped across to the window. "I fought to establish his sentience!" Picard stared out at the moving stars. "But only now does it become clear." He closed his eyes for a time, then looked back at his second in command. "Data is alive. Data has a _soul_."

Riker felt the weight of that fact suddenly, as though he hadn't already known it was true.

Picard looked back out through the glass. "Will, he needs our help. We _must_ save him. I at least owe him that much."

"There's not a member of this crew who's willing to settle for anything less, Captain," Riker assured him. "We will make it so. Whatever it takes."

Picard didn't look back to him, but nodded.

Riker was about to leave again when his own concerns came back to him. "Look, Captain. Personally I don't believe in magic, but whatever happened to me back on the planet was... disturbing. Unnatural. Beyond anything I can explain or understand. …What I'm trying to say is… Whatever hope we have of resolving this situation may lie with the Spooky Group. With _their_ abilities."

Picard did look back at that. "The 'Spooky Group'?"

"I overheard some of the young officers chatting," Riker expanded with a hint of a smile. "It seems that the 'Slayer' and her team have acquired a reputation with our ensigns. And a nickname to go with it."

Picard pondered over it and also smiled a little. "The Spooky Group?"

Riker shrugged. "It fits. Ghost stories have taken over conversation onboard the past few days. I don't think the crew knows whether to befriend our guests or fear them." The commander then turned and made for the bridge, leaving the captain to his contemplation. The fate of the galaxy, and indeed the universe, was in their hands. Most importantly to his heart; so was the fate of his second officer.

* * *

A terrible convoy of ships – 93 in all – made up of shuttlecraft, runabouts, and non-Starfleet pods, travelled at their maximum velocity of warp 2 directly toward the Sol system. They flew in an elliptical formation around an empty pocket of space. Empty, that was, to the eye.

For, within that space, a deadly weapon cruised steadily. A Klingon scoutship boasting dangerous experimental technology created for terrorism.

They made little sound as they moved at speeds faster than any sound could travel. Yet, an echo did resonate through the pocket of subspace that surrounded the Bird of Prey. It was the sound of a violin.

As the vessel glided like an eagle through the stars, from within her bowels came the beautiful music of Handel's violin sonata in D major.

On the blood encrusted bridge, sat in the commanding chair, Data played the first movement of Handel's masterpiece on a replicated violin. All else was quiet around him.

Data's eyes were closed as he played his bow over the strings of the instrument that rested between his shoulder and chin. His performance was flawless. Note-perfect. His head moved with subtle expression to the rhythm. He was lost in his music.

Another face moved close to his, this one hideous and disfigured. The face of a demon. It examined Data's lost expression like a predator examines a wounded prey, and growled. When the android did not acknowledge its presence, the demon curled back its lips and spoke: "That taka-yon diffuser thing's installed, Chief."

The music stopped suddenly when the android thrust his violin bow into the demon's neck. The demon gagged and winced with pain, but the artificial man didn't release the long stick of wood and horsehair that penetrated its throat.

"NEVER interrupt me when I am expressing myself!" he warned as he pulled the demon closer. "Or I MAY choose to express myself by tearing your eyes out from their sockets." He let the creature go. "And, furthermore, don't waste my time with your grating dialogue. I am aware of your thoughts at all times. _Your_ knowledge is _my_ knowledge." He took a moment to consider that. "Knowledge may be too strong a word for the drivel that swims through the slush you call your brain."

The Hell-Beast nodded and gargled. It choked as it ambled away from the Klingon bridge holding the bow cautiously as it went.

The evil spirit, in the form of Data, stepped down boldly from the command chair and disregarded the violin. He surveyed his bridge and thought back to the words of the Slayer...

He began to recite: " 'Be bloody, bold, and resolute! Laugh to scorn the power of man, for none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.' … Smart, Slayer. Very smart. But this is not Shakespeare. And life, that you so wish to preserve, is frail... and you are far from being immortal." His confidence was at its peak. He knew that no mortal was able to defeat him. No mortal, no alien, no weapon, and no machine. He had been bound once, but never defeated. The Slayer would soon meet her end. Permanently. And the infinity of the universe would be his to mould into any shape he might choose.

Data moved to a forward workstation.

During his encounter with the Slayer on the planet's surface, he had received knowledge from his minions still onboard the Bird. He had been aware of the skirmish with the shuttlecraft. Moreover, that another shuttle had appeared to aid the first.

The android worked the computer. "It seems that a Federation shuttle was able to track us while cloaked; even without a tachyon sweep," he muttered. Such a sweep would no longer be effective now that the tachyon diffuser was installed.

Internal diagnostic results appeared on his monitor and he explained aloud; for no other reason than it felt good to have a voice once again: "There is an imbalance in the fuel supply. The portside engines are receiving a ten-percent overflow, causing the excess to be vented. We're leaving footprints." He located the fault with the internal sensors. "The injectors need re-aligning." Then he spoke to a red-skinned demon stood close by: "Fix it."

The demon looked to either side of itself and said: "Me?" He went slightly redder with panic. "I don't know how."

With a thought from the Dark Spirit, the demon's eyes grew suddenly wide with knowledge. "Whoa," it gasped, "that was a killer rush." The demon turned then and left, rubbing at its sore head as it pounded with a wealth of new information.

The android also went to work. He began to write a program. In all, it took him less than thirty minutes to complete. He linked the tactical weaponry controls directly to both cloak devices – the primary and the new experimental piece of technology he'd acquired on the surface. He then set up a time-delay program that would run automatically when certain commands were given to the computer. If all went well and this device was successful, it would be an invaluable weapon. If it failed, ...there would be other hosts. And other armies.

" 'Life is but a walking shadow. A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury... signifying... NOTHING!'"He activated the program.

" 'I 'gin to be aweary of the sun, And wish the estate o' the world were now undone!' …Good will no longer prevail! Not this day! Not EVER!"

A zombified Klingon engineer observed a rear terminal under the guidance of the Darkness like a puppet. It reacted to new information that scrolled across the small screen and quietly hissed a slur of words to itself: "Doubllle-lllayered cloaaaking fieldsssss activvve."

The android already knew that the technology was now installed. Yet there was still the chance that it would fail to function. "I'll believe that it works when I see it for myself," he replied.

He also knew that the Enterprise was nowhere to be seen. Long-range sensors detected no vessels within range. That gave him enough time to run a test of his new weapon.

With one unified action, the entire fleet dropped out of warp and came to a complete standstill surrounding the concealed Bird of Prey.

He was aware of all things around him. He knew the long-range sensor readouts. He saw through the eyes of his dead Klingon engineer. He knew that repairs were underway to fix the engine problem – courtesy of the various demon breeds and alien crew that were joined with him. "I'm bringing the new program online and re-routing all cloak and tactical commands through it," he muttered, enthused. He returned to the command chair and ordered the periscope to be deployed. He gripped the handles as it descended, and snapped them open. Peering into the sights, he called out: "Status of cloak?"

The instant the living-dead Klingon set its eyes on the relevant information, Darkness knew the answer.

"functioniiiing withiiin sssafety sspecificationnnsss," it replied nevertheless.

With an unspoken command, the weapons systems were brought online. The android swung his scope around to a new bearing. It was time to test his device. Time to test the program he'd written for it. His eyes narrowed. There was a suspicion in the back of his thoughts.

By travelling with his army of shuttles, he was restricted to the maximum speed that those ships could reach – a warp factor of just 2. He found it curious that the Enterprise had not already intercepted them. Especially since he'd lost the cloak enhancer.

There was always the possibility that they were unable to pursue. Then there was also the possibility that they _chose_ not to follow, which raised all kinds of questions. But one fact could be stated for certain; it did not matter. The Dark Spirit was not troubled by such inconsequential details. Nothing stood between him and the Hellmouth now but distance. It was only a matter of time until that too was behind him. However long that would be, and in whatever form he should assume.

The android was, by far, his premier choice of host. A living machine with strength and knowledge beyond anything both in the mortal _and_ supernatural realm. Yet, still expendable when the end came. There was no fear. No worry. The final hour would soon be at hand. Life was nothing more than a piece of badly-made theatre, and the curtain was about to fall for the last time.

* * *

From the emptiness at the heart of the android's fleet, the sound of a weapon-launching system activating echoed through the void. But there was nothing to see. Until a moment later, when a single glimmering torpedo appeared as if from nowhere.

It streaked forward into the shuttle fleet...

A tiny non-Federation shuttlepod with no weapons and minimal shields took the impact directly. It exploded, sending debris through the sea of ships – bouncing off their shields and drifting away.

Quiet returned.

The ships set course.

An entire army of vessels moving together into warp.

To Earth.

* * *

(QUOTES: Macbeth - by William Shakespeare.)


	26. Prelude To War : The Way Of The Slayer

**Previously on BUFFY meets STAR TREK:**

__

Dawn and Data read the inscriptions on 2 ancient boxes. One held an entity of unrelenting Evil, the other held its power.

The Scooby Gang (Buffy, Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya…and even Spike) were pulled through time and space into an alternate future reality - Captain Jean-Luc Picard's reality. The Evil - known only as 'Darkness' - possessed Data and, with his new form and all the wealth of Data's knowledge, went on a killing spree - amassing a great army of the Dead and of Demons brought straight from a hellish dimension. After facing the Evil Data in battle, Buffy was truly ass-wupped.

Darkness has a mission: To reach Earth, open the Hellmouth in this and EVERY reality… Destroying all existence.

Picard and the Scoobs have a mission: To stop him.

Question is…. Who will succeed?….

**

* * *

**

** - Prelude To War -**

**--The Way Of The Slayer--**

_**26**_

'Captain's log, Stardate 53892.9:

It is with a deep sense of foreboding that we are now in pursuit of Lieutenant Commander Data, with the assistance of the U.S.S. Rutherford. We have increased our velocity to warp two to match the speed of the enemy fleet – now a relative point-one light years ahead.

We have little more than forty-eight hours until Data reaches the Epsilon Ursae system. There he will be intercepted by the Klingon attack-ship_gHin-TAQ_. Their aim is to create a blockade of mines to lure him through the star system in which they lay in wait.

We shall maintain our present distance until the trap is a confirmed success, then increase to maximum warp to assist. We hope to reach the gHin-TAQ within an hour of them initiating combat.

Tomorrow I shall be meeting with Captain Freeman and Chancellor Martok to discuss our strategy for the forthcoming conflict. A conflict that now seems inevitable.

As much as it is my belief that no amount of war can create peace – as peace is a state that can only be reached with communication, negotiation, and compromise – at times such as these, when there is no hope of negotiation, war is regrettably the only remaining chance of achieving an outcome that is peaceful for the inhabitants of this galaxy.

It is clear to me now, as we approach the dawn of what may prove to be a terrible battle, that war is no way to reach peace. It is the act of eliminating those who do not agree with our own way of life. I ask myself: 'Are we justified in our actions because of the fact that our enemies have no soul? Because their actions are ruthless, evil, and single-mindedly deadly?'

Some would argue not. However, when their aims do threaten the very fabric of our existence, and all life within, what more justification is needed?

And, so, we plan our war. We expect this assault to be a short one, but with a high number of casualties. In that respect, every crewmember will make use of the next two days to make ship and shuttles as safe and as strong as possible. There is a great deal of work to do.

In the meantime, however, I have laid down a strict order that all crew make the most of a good nights' sleep so they may approach the coming days' preparations with a fresh-face and a keener focus. While I am certain there are some onboard who have disregarded those orders and are already preparing the ship for combat, some of our guests are making preparations of another kind…'

* * *

Black.

Dark.

Quiet.

Breathing.

Focus.

"When _you_ fight, the warrior is in your fists…" Worf slipped through the darkness, moving slowly around her in a predatory manner. "…And it is in your thoughts. It drives you in conflict."

His voice was barely above a whisper as she caught site of his face passing briefly out of the shadow.

"You must learn to let the warrior into your heart. _Become_ the predator."

She shifted uneasily, finding it difficult to interpret the meaning of his words.

"You are a creature of actions." His speech was slow and precise. "Actions are not enough for one to win victory; you must _become_ the fight."

Her nose creased up to meet the furrow of her puzzled brow.

"The way _you_ fight is unnatural. Your style gives the impression of a series of ill-connecting manoeuvres juxtaposed with little or no consideration. Whereas the Klingon art of combat is a fluid, living thing."

She squinted in the dark to search for his face, and for any telltale signs that he was not entirely serious.

"You must learn to fight with your _heart_. Not with your hands."

Buffy frowned and quietly muttered: "Sure. I'll just rip it beating from my chest and _throw_ it at 'em."

Worf's head appeared looking questioningly at her. "Did you address me?"

She bit her lip. "Nope. But, now you mention it, I do have one question…"

He listened.

"…Is it _totally_necessary for all the dark we're in?"

Worf sighed. "When your senses are deprived, you will learn to focus all of your concentration with greater–"

She waggled her fingers in front of her face. "'Cos I can't even see my hands unless they're right in front of my face. And then I can't see anything else but my hands." She realised that she'd cut him off. "Sorry. You were saying?"

He stepped back from her and let out a deeper huff. "Computer! Increase lighting to fifty percent!"

As the shadows melted away and their location appeared around them, Buffy looked about for the first time feeling suddenly tiny and overwhelmed at the site of her surroundings.

This was the Enterprise' exercise hall – much larger than the gymnasium she'd seen on one of her own unscheduled tours. Apparently, the Klingons had commandeered it on their arrival to use as a training and sparring room. Buffy examined the hall in amazement. It made her own training room back in the Magic Box look like a punch-bag in a closet. The walls were high, and on each was hung a series of Klingon tapestries; many bearing the symbol of the Klingon race.

She found herself standing in some kind of dojo section with padded flooring, looking out on an intricate and elaborate collection of framing and platforms – like some form of combat scaffolding. One part of it reminded her of the Duel podiums from the Gladiator TV show. It was, without a doubt, quite a sight.

When she finally turned back to face Worf, he grumbled: "If you are ready to continue?"

"Sorry," she said again, flipping a thumb back at the scaffolding. "Big climbing frame."

Worf let her flippancy pass by him without responding. She saw now that he was wearing the same white Karate-gi uniform that he'd asked her to come in, and his hair was tied back.

"I observed you in combat at Sal Fusia-Six," he said to her. "Though you were successful, you leave yourself open to attack. You must never invite an opponent to take advantage of such a weakness. Even brief pauses between blows will leave your offensive vulnerable. I will teach you how to fight like a _Klingon_ – in the ancient and traditional way." Worf pulled at his sleeves and made a stance.

Buffy matched him by readying herself – putting her weight on her forward foot, as she tended to do – unsure as to what was going to happen next.

"No," Worf snapped at her. "Do not place the weight of your attack on one foot. Your balance must remain even, or you will limit your ability to manoeuvre effectively."

She rolled her eyes and did as he instructed by spreading her weight across both feet.

Worf continued: "Remember that the First Level deals mainly with defensive posturing, and in anticipating an enemy's attack through the way in which he positions his body in relation to his centre of gravity, and by which of his muscles become rigid in preparation for movement."

Buffy was about to let out a frank and heartfelt 'Huh?' when–

He attacked!

Buffy dropped low, spinning, and bringing up her right leg to kick him. Worf caught her right ankle, gripped her collar, and kicked away her other foot, slamming her to the mat. She gasped.

"Are you aware of your error?" he asked with a sickening degree of smugness.

"Shoulda took out your legs."

He released her. "You must first sever _my_ attack before initiating your own!" he warned firmly.

Buffy picked herself up from the mat and stretched her bruised muscles. She could do little, however, for her bruised ego.

Worf tugged once more at his sleeves and prepared. "Again."

He attacked.

Following his instructions, she attempted to counter, but her misjudgement took her in the wrong direction. She froze with Worf's knuckles an inch from her face. He would have hit her with the back of his fist, just as he had during their first encounter in the corridor 3 days ago! She made the same damn mistake!

"No!" he grunted at her. "You must observe my body – interpret my intentions."

She got it wrong a couple more times before Worf rambled on about how his weight was leaning in the direction his mind was thinking of going – subconscious movement. Blah, blah.

"Again!" he ordered much more fiercely.

This time, when Worf made his move she watched for the subtleties in his initial movement. Out of either skill or luck, she succeeded in stopping him from both grabbing her face and sweeping her legs.

Without pause, he informed her that she must be prepared to follow through with her own attack.

He moved over to her to position her in what he called a "traditional Klingon pose" that would be most effective in defending and attacking 90 of an enemy's strikes. He turned her body slightly and began positioning her arms.

She observed the concentration on the Klingon's face, and recalled something that was preying on her mind from the Zombiefest on the science station. "Someone told me Klingons were a brotherhood of warriors."

Worf stopped to listen to her.

"So, …why didn't you give your friend a funeral fit for a warrior?"

He grimaced.

"Instead you just left him there on that Zombie-Station. Cut off his head, took his weapon and just…discarded him… like he wasn't even worth trash."

Worf shifted uncomfortably. "When a warrior dies, his spirit joins those of his ancestors' in the great hall of Sto-Vo-Kor. The body that remains becomes an empty shell – cold and without life. Its use is at an end. It is no longer relevant. That is the Klingon belief."

"But…the body makes up half the person," Buffy argued. "After all; what's a spirit without a body? Our bodies give us form. Make us real."

"Yet they have no bearing on who we are inside. Do you believe that you would be a different person if you had the body of another?"

"Well…" she considered, "if it was the body of a guy…" She looked downward toward her crotch with the hint of a smile.

Worf was not tickled by her rudeness.

"I guess not," Buffy admitted, adding: "I mean; no." She went on to explain: "I've actually been there. In someone else's body. But I was still me. Trouble is … so was she."

The warrior did not need further details to give his Klingon perspective. "Honour your spirit always. And remain true to yourself." He made certain she was in the correct position for_ Ghul-boq_. "Do not allow anyone else to change you."

The contradictory nature of his advice was immediately apparent when he stepped away, leaving Buffy in a pose that he had placed her in. One not at all natural to her. _So much for being true to myself._

Worf took his place again, explaining: "Each posture you take must allow the possibility of choice in your following movement. This is the ideal position to take when defending my previous attack. From this, you will find a greater number of counter-measures available to you."

This time, he instructed her to block his attack as before, but to then allow her posture and balance to lead her immediately into a counter-attack.

She blocked perfectly a second time, but the strike she made after was met with a painful defence expertly delivered by the Klingon.

"Yet another error," he said, shaking his head. "You made the mistake of initiating an attack that my body was positioned to defend. Observe my balance to use it against me as I did. You _must_ use your skills of observation, and think ahead at all times."

She shrugged off her growing annoyance at being repeatedly chastised so harshly, and tried to take his advice. _Be ahead of the game, _she told herself. _I can do that. I've got Slayer-sense._

But, when she did try again, she found herself thrown to the mat once more.

Worf let out a roar. "You are NOT concentrating!" he spat. "I am WASTING my time!"

That was it! She'd had enough! …Ranting on about 'Don't let anyone change you'! Yes, it was true: she _wasn't_ giving it her all. But she had damn good reasons!

Everything built up to a crescendo, and the volcano of torment deep within the pit of her began to bubble.

Whenever there was a Big Bad to tackle, Buffy was the sort who _needed_ to get stuck in and go at it like a bull. But she was stuck here in this flying space-bucket – trapped, claustrophobic – wasting her time trying to learn how to fight like an alien for no clear reason she could gather, and feeling helpless on 2 fronts:

Firstly, she still felt the responsibility to protect Dawn. And her Mom was unwell. But there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

Second, they were chasing Data. And when they catch up, whatever happens, there was a good chance she wouldn't be able to do squat to help. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it!

She was a Fist of Fury with nothing she could fight, and no one else understood how frustrating that was. And now, here was this Klingon freak telling her to be true to her spirit one second and the next telling her 'Do this, do that. Not that way, THIS way!" It was all just too MUCH!

Worf was observing Buffy's face as she seemed to be hitting boiling point. It appeared to him that she was about to do what most human females tended to do in this situation – cry like a child.

He was mistaken.

Buffy shot forward into him. Unprepared for such a sudden display of aggression, Worf misjudged her intentions and she managed to slip through his misplaced defence, buckling his knee with a sharp jab, and flipping him over onto his ass. The Klingon grunted and held his burning kneecap.

Buffy allowed herself a small amount of pleasure by standing over his toppled frame. "Guess you didn't see _that_ coming, huh?" she asked sarcastically.

Worf spoke through clenched teeth: "That was not the lesson."

"Just being true to myself," she replied. She looked him in the eye one last time, just so they were both clear she'd won this little battle, before walking away.

She was tired. Tired of this crap and just generally tired. It was late, and she felt her bed calling to her. Stopping at the doors as they parted for her, Buffy decided to give Worf a piece of advice. "By the way – about observation – you might wanna think about teaching _yourself_."

By the time Worf pulled himself up to respond, she was gone.

* * *

The hour was late, and the lounge of Picard's quarters was lit more dimly than usual. Perhaps, Beverly considered, it was a reflection of the dark nature of the topic they were about to discuss. They sat, not quite opposite each other, at his dining table, each halfway through a bowl of La Creperie – French onion soup.

"It just occurred to me, Jean-Luc… we've had breakfast here almost every morning for twelve years… I think this is the first time we've ever had supper."

Picard gave her a warm smile. "Four years."

She frowned a moment, looking around the room and realising this was not the Enterprise-D. She smiled back and nodded. "I still forget sometimes. It feels like we've always been here."

"I think we all do on occasion."

Beverly realised her appetite had departed her, and put down the spoon. She gave the room another gaze. War was imminent. To think that they may lose all this – their home – a second time…

"I don't think I could go through that again," she confessed.

Picard gave her a long and solemn glare as he searched for a way to express his feeling about that thought. He seemed to wrestle with it for a good time and his face saddened. He was about to speak when the door chimed. Picard embraced the distraction eagerly, setting his soup aside and making his way to the seated area with his tea. "Come."

Tweed-clad, as ever, Giles stepped into Captain Picard's quarters.

"Thankyou for coming so late," Picard acknowledged, offering him a seat.

"Not at all," he replied, parking himself on a couch. "I'm eager to assist in any way I can."

"Tea?" offered the Captain.

"Please," Giles answered, quickly wiping and replacing his spectacles. "That would be most…" he caught sight of Doctor Crusher at that moment as she arrived at the lounge and placed a teapot on the small table in front of him. She gave him a smile. "…delightful," he finished. Giles averted his gaze awkwardly and spotted Picard's epée blade on a display stand nearby. The sword was accompanied by a classic fencing mask. '_A fellow duellist_'

"A war is ahead of us, Mr. Giles." The captain sat and poured out a fresh drink for the Watcher. "Anything you can tell us to give us a strategic advantage would be most appreciated. For instance, what are the battle-tactics of these demons? What can we expect from them?"

Giles slipped into his 'serious Watcher' role. "Demons, even as part of a group or clan, are relatively unorganised. They can be likened to animals. Rather than use tactics as such, they rely more on instinct to fight. But, with Darkness acting as a central 'brain' for the group, who can say?"

"It reminds me of the Borg," Picard noted. "A race of bio-mechanoids with no concept of individuality – acting with one unified mind. They act like a computer system. Very predictable."

"The demons won't be easily predictable. They often surprise."

"I find that extremely disheartening."

"The trick," Beverly added, "will be not to act in a way that Data would predict."

Picard nodded in agreement. He remembered a time when roles were reversed. When he, as Locutus, was beaten by his own crew who used unexpected methods of attack to confuse him.

Beverly turned to Giles. "Are you still trying to find a…less orthodox solution?"

"I'm afraid we're not getting very far," he revealed. "We are attempting to devise a simple way of trapping the Dark Spirit – as he was trapped originally. Unfortunately that would only be a temporary solution." He became aware that he hadn't asked a question that now seemed very pressing. "How are the injured among your crew?"

"Many died," Crusher sadly reported. "We've had to eviscerate a number of bodies. When war starts, sickbay's going to become a madhouse. If you and your group reach a dead-end with your own work, we could use all the acting-medics we can get."

"I'll keep that in mind, Doctor."

"_Beverly_," she insisted. "I'll let you gentlemen continue in peace. I'm going for a night-cap." She began to leave them before, on second thought, she turned back to Giles, tossing her hair back. "I'll be in Ten-Forward if you care to join me when you're done here." Crusher gave Picard a nod. "Goodnight, Captain." And then Giles. "Rupert."

The ex-Watcher watched her go. He was struck by how exceptionally well shaped she was for a woman her age. Not to mention attractive.

Picard sighed.

Ripper snapped out of his reverie. "Is something else troubling you, Captain?"

"I find myself struggling to reconcile our intentions," he explained. "To set out to eradicate every last demon that has crossed over into our reality…an entire species…it is nothing short of genocide. I wonder; will our conscience weigh too heavy with sin?"

"It may console you to know they are beings of evil. Pure evil. In the clear pantomime sense."

"Evil?" Picard considered. "Such a simple, unquestionable word. It leaves no room for doubt. Unfortunately, pantomime villains are two-dimensional characters that lack such complex emotions and motivations that are found in reality." He paused for a breath. "Evil. …I'm afraid it isn't a word I can associate with. I don't subscribe to the meaning it represents. Nothing is ever so black and white. Only varying shades of grey. In every man there is the capacity for virtue or injustice. In every race there are those who seek to aspire for a better future, and those who wish to fulfil selfish needs with disregard for the consequences to others. The Romulans, for example." He took a sip of tea. "If I were a lesser-educated man I might, superficially, say that Romulans are an untrustworthy, xenophobic race with no other desire than to rule over our galaxy. However, that's certainly not true for _all_ Romulans."

Giles contended: "But Romulans, no matter how villainous they are, are still people. People with souls and the ability to distinguish right from wrong. What of this 'Borg' race?"

Captain Picard contemplated the Borg for a beat. It was true that Starfleet, and himself, were prepared to remove all trace of them from the galaxy. But that was an exceptional circumstance. The demons were not the Borg Collective. "How can you say with certainty that _every_ demon in the enemy's army is wholly evil?" he asked Giles. "How can you label a race that is made up of unique beings? If each individual has a singular personality? Especially after you yourself have acknowledged that they may in fact be committing these atrocities while under the influence of one malevolent entity."

"Spike," Giles clarified, "is a vampire. A monster. The fact that you can have any kind of conversation with him is entirely down to the machinery in his head. Without that chip, he would kill every man and woman on this ship. Your entire crew. He would feed until his veins threatened to burst, and worse – he would turn half your crew into creatures as deadly as himself who will then go on to feed on more innocent victims. …He would do it in order to survive. In that respect he has no choice. Mostly, he would do it for pleasure." He tried to find a way to leave Picard in no doubt as to the nature of demons. "Captain, if knowledge and the exploration of the unknown is what gives _your_ life fulfilment, then death is a vampire's gratification. Would it make any significant difference to you if he were either attacking your crew, or being told to attack Earth by someone else?"

Picard took Giles words under advisement. "You can assure me that no demon has ever acted out of kindness? Nor ever committed an act of mercy? That not one of them possesses even the capacity to do anything other than kill?" he pleaded. "Because, if just one of these creatures has shown any sign of compassion or morality… the ramifications of that would cast a shadow of doubt that I cannot easily dismiss."

Giles made a conscious effort to sound sincere in his response. "I can assure you that _no_ demon can ever possess the capability to be anything other than evil," he lied. "They're born from evil to do evil."

As hard as it was – as treacherous as he felt for betraying Picard's trust – he felt compelled to lie to him. He lied to protect Picard's universe from the demon race. A race that could quickly ruin a galaxy as uninformed and naïve in its view of the paranormal as this reality was.

The captain spent a good time eyeing the inside of his teacup before finally speaking again. "I am still unable to imagine that 'Darkness' is just a being of uncompromising evil. That it aims do destroy all without reason. There must be more to it than that."

Giles nodded his agreement. "My interpretation of our enemy is based both on myth and on the evidence we have gathered over the past three days. But I agree. There will undoubtedly be more to this entity than we know at this moment. I'm sure there is much more we could learn, given the time and the research material."

"So," Picard said, as if admitting defeat in some way, "we cannot be certain what we face?"

"I would prepare for the unexpected."

The captain sighed. "It does beg the question: How does one prepare for the unexpected?"

"Your crew has a wealth of experience at expecting the unexpected. It is a factor in your mission statement. 'To Go Where No Man Has Gone Before'?"

Picard nodded with a smile.

"Try not to judge this enemy in the way you may judge one of your 'Borg' or 'Romulan' armies," Giles went on. "You have such amazing weaponry and personnel in this one ship alone. I would say we can be no more fortunate."

Picard's mood became suddenly a measure graver. "I must impress upon you how important it is that we not allow the enemy to reach our solar system."

"I can assure you I, and my companions, fully understand."

"In war, we all become expendable, Mr. Giles."

He gave a simple nod."Rupert, please."

Satisfied now that all parties involved would give whatever was required to succeed in their mission, Picard finished: "We may be required to board his ship. I'll let you and your team know more once I have spoken with the captain of the Rutherford and the Klingon chancellor."

"Very well," Giles noted. He stood, and began to depart. He finished his last sip of tea and handed the cup to the captain.

Picard took the mug from Giles and said: "The unexpected awaits us. We must resign ourselves to do our utmost, which may indeed be all we _can_ do. My hope is that we will at least outnumber the enemy once we join with the Klingon attack-ship."

Giles acknowledged that. "Until tomorrow, Captain."

Picard did not offer his forename as Rupert left the room. He decided to tidy and take rest once that was done. As this may prove to be his last night of sleep, he wished to make it a good long night.

* * *

Standing in her quarters alone, Buffy spent long minutes staring into the mirror. Not so much looking at her own reflection as that of her mind, and how tangled it was becoming in this place so far from home.

She was also aware how her treatment of the Klingon earlier had been seriously out of line. As tedious and arrogant as he was, he had, after all, given of his own time to try to teach her something. Even if she didn't benefit from his training, how often in her life would she get the chance to learn martial arts from an alien?

Blowing out air in a childish huff, she put it down to a bad day that a good night of rest would fix. Gathering some motivation, she moved to the washroom, undressed, and stepped into the sonic shower. The high-frequency sweep passed over her, cleansing her instantly. She stepped back out a moment later and was met by her reflection again, this time from the small mirror above the washbasin. She stared at her own dry, clean, naked flesh.

It felt to her that even the most mundane experiences in this world lacked any essence. Lacked feeling. She wasn't left with that warm tingly relaxation of a bath, or the fresh feeling of a real shower. She felt…deadened. A victim of a hollow experience.

She hated it here. Not because of the people – she could easily live with people being so good-natured back home. There was just no real substance in anything here. Even the food was synthetic.

In the sleeping area, her eyes crossed the room and fell upon the bed – not her own – and not some holiday suite either. It represented the cage that the Enterprise had become for her. She was trapped here, a prisoner, and the thought that it may be forever was hell to her.

Indeed, she was troubled. But, more so, she was tired.

She prepared for bed; slipping into a set of pink pyjamas she'd laid over her bed sheet, which she now pulled back. Once she'd asked the computer to wake her in the morning – though it always made her feel foolish to speak to a machine – she lay back, slid under the covers and forced her eyes to close.

"Lights off," she called, bringing darkness to her room, save for the light twinkling of stars out in the beyond. Thankfully, she soon found peaceful sleep.

It didn't last.

A stark screeching rattled her ears and tore her away from blessed sleep. It was her alarm clock. '_Dammit_'

She couldn't be bothered with it now; she was far too tired. Besides, she was _sure_ she didn't need to be up so soon. With eyes closed tight as she clung to the tattered rim of sleep that still held sway over her, feeling for the clock that lay on her bedside table, she found nothing in her reach.

The alarm continued to buzz.

The same old alarm clock that had been waking her for over a year – usually with the odious intention of getting her up for college. This was one wake-up call she had no desire to rise to on this particular occasion. Especially as it seemed that sleep had only come to her a moment ago. She opened her eyes and saw nothing. Nothing but black. Like the sun had not risen on this day. She clawed for her lamp and began to panic when it couldn't be found. Was she at home? Was she in her dorm room? She was about to call out to her mom, or Willow, when she suddenly sensed the sterility of the room she was in, and the realisation came to her that she was not in her own bed at all. She knew where she was.

"Lights."

Her quarters exploded to full colour and burned her eyes.

"Half-lights!"

Seconds later, she peeled her lids back and ambled through the gloom into her lounge. She pricked up her ears. There seemed to be a great hullabaloo right outside her room with a clatter of movement, screeching and shouting. She still felt terribly groggy, but decided never the less to go investigate this fracas.

Throwing on a silky lilac gown from her complementary dresser, she toddled over to the doors, barefoot, and poked the release for the lock. Though she feared, from the clatter, that the ship had fallen into panic, she felt an odd sensation of calm unease.

What she found when the doors drew apart, however, she did not expect. She was hit suddenly by the still silence of the empty corridor outside. It was so quiet, in fact, that her ears hummed. Buffy first tentatively peeped her head out from the doorway to check for any signs of a crowd along the length of the passage. Not a thing stirred. '_Not even a mouse_'

She stepped out. It was a sudden move and she wasn't quite sure why she'd done it. She would have been more than happy to return to her soft, warm bed. But, recalling that it was her alarm clock that had woken her, she decided she must have somewhere she needed to be. So, she made a start down the Enterprise' corridor; heading for nowhere in particular, and for no particular reason. As she made her first steps, Buffy fancied she could hear a faint sound somewhere far off. She stopped. Listened.

She listened for a good long while – at least until she was satisfied she'd heard nothing – and chose to carry on. Before she managed to take a step, she heard it again – much more clearly. It was a person. Some kind of desperate cry. She didn't have to puzzle over it for long as her ears were struck by a distinct plea in a voice she recognised all too well…

"BUFFY!"

She gasped and felt her heart miss a beat. "Angel?"

Angel called to her again – weak and needy. His voice drifted and reverberated around her. She spun about, listening in vain to pinpoint his direction.

"BUFFY!"

She slammed against the corridor and clawed at the bulkhead to find a way to him. He was behind the walls and all around. But the walls were thick and no matter how she pounded, smashed, dented and bled, she could not reach him.

"ANGEL?" She panicked and ran barrelling through the corridors; feeling along the walls for a way behind them; trying every door she met to no avail. Still he called to her, and still she ran and ran.

Buffy halted abruptly. She wasn't alone in the corridor anymore. Data was there. Wearing tattered cloth as a garment, he knelt in the corridor with a wooden shoe-shine stand laid out before him. The chair was vacant, or so it seemed; yet a pair of old boots stood empty where a client's feet would rest, and Data polished and buffed then vigorously.

The android spotted her hovering over him. He turned to her, his face clear of emotion, and offered his rag. "Would you care for a shoe-shine, ma'am?"

Buffy frowned and studied her bare feet. "No. Thanks. They're all clean."

"Oh, well," he said to her. "I do not eat much, you know." Then he turned back to the stand and continued the polishing as he said to the invisible no-one sat before him: "But I love cheese. I never eat enough cheese!"

A mildly disturbed Buffy began to slip past him cautiously. "I-I have to go. Someone needs me."

She soon resumed her frantic search through the halls of the Enterprise.

"ANGEL? …ANGEL?" Her calls went unanswered, which propelled her to run faster.

She ran…

And ran…

And ran…

…Right into the strong arms of a tall man. She gasped and began to say Angel's name…

But a glance upward revealed not Angel, but agent Riley Finn.

Riley cast a suspicious eye down upon her. "Who are you looking for?"

"You," she replied automatically. "Always you."

Riley put his arms around her and the warmth of his body filled her and comforted her. It was a feeling that gave her security. It was a warmth she could never feel with a dead thing such as Angel. She found it easy in that moment to put all thoughts of Angel's plight to one side and to walk away with her living love, arm in arm. "Agent Riley Finn," she uttered lovingly.

"That's me, Baby," he returned with a wink. "I just had the most amazing shoe-shine."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. The guy who did it was really friendly. He can kill a man with a single encrypted thought process."

Buffy's eyes widened with awe. "Wow. That _is_ swell."

A set of doors opened up before them to the beauty of the arboretum, where a dainty young girl stood alone by the pond.

Dawn.

Concern overcame Buffy. "What are you doing here? Where's Mom?"

When Dawn turned, her eyes were filled with pain. "That isn't funny."

"It wasn't supposed to be," Buffy retorted, becoming worried. What had Dawn meant?

"You _know_ she isn't here," the younger Summers stated.

Buffy felt a wave of fear and worry stifle her. But those fears paled when her eyes were drawn to a new arrival.

The Demon-Bitch! Her blonde frizzy hair flowing over her slender shoulders, wearing the same red dress she'd worn on their first encounter. She appeared behind Dawn with a wrapped gift. "Here, Dawny," she said with a caring tone. Turning to Buffy, the Bitch explained: "Something she can wear on the special day."

Overcome by both fear for Dawn's safety, and anger toward the demon woman, she shifted into Slayer-speak: "You stay the hell away from my sister."

"Pff. Sister?" Riley scoffed at the Slayer with disdain. "At least _she_ brought Dawn a present."

Buffy frowned and turned to find him holding a gift of his own for Dawn.

"It's not even her birthday until–" She stopped when she remembered that her 'sister' had never really been born.

"_She_ didn't forget like _you_," Dawn spat at her.

"Yeah," Riley added. "You didn't get her anything. Or were you just gonna get her killed?"

The Slayer felt increasingly disturbed as these three people closed in on her. She shut her eyes to encourage them all to disappear like a bad dream. When she looked back, Dawn was still there. And there was a single tear of blood rolling down her pale cheek.

"Now look what you did," Glory hissed, handing Dawn a tissue.

Dawn dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief, and glared unwavering toward her big sister. "You may as well go, Buffy. That _is_ what you're good at, after all." She handed Buffy the tissue and Riley began to laugh a roaring laugh that mocked the Slayer.

Buffy's own eyes welled. The cloth in her hand felt moist, then wet. She glanced down to see that the white tissue had grown sodden with blood! She looked up. Dawns eyes were filling with dark red blood until that became all there was inside her. Then she too began to laugh at Buffy. Soon they all laughed at the horrified Slayer as she backed away from their macabre strangeness.

When a hard lump caught in Buffy's throat, she realised she needed desperately to escape this place. Dropping the tissue, she turned and fled just as fast as she could…

Into the corridor she sped, until it came to an end. There a door opened and Buffy, daring not to stop, charged right through it – into space.

She gasped, writhed, prepared herself for pain and death as she fell spiralling and spinning… Then…

…Buffy broke through pure white cloud, wind flowing over her – ruffling her feathers.

She flew – an eagle – free and glorious, over moors and marshes and plains, and back into cloud again. Pain and fear gave way to euphoria as she soared over the world alone and at peace.

The clouds, of the purest white, began to grow dull and grey as she travelled. Soon they began to break up, darkening more and more. She passed headlong through a wall of the blackest cloud she'd ever seen…

…Only to be caught up in a flurry of noise and movement.

Cries of fury and pain. Clashing of swords and shields. Stampeding, running, falling and fighting.

The Slayer was swept along in some terrible battle. Swept along amidst ancient warriors both human and demon locked in combat.

She felt herself struck from behind, and fell crashing finally to earth with the shedding of tail-feathers. One monstrous demon came charging at her, a sharp tool held aloft as it came roaring like a banshee. It's blood-stained face a petrified, distorted mass of gore and saliva. The Slayer flapped her wings in a futile effort to react as it reached her with its weapon swinging wildly. The blade arced down with one final movement, and struck her in the chest!

Buffy woke suddenly, sweating and clutching at her tight chest.

She remained that way for almost an hour before daring to lay herself back down in the bed. But her eyes did not dare to close for much, much longer.

* * *

Spike woke suddenly, sweating and clutching at his tight crotch.

Images of Buffy with her naked thighs wrapped tightly around his face still flashed through his foggy mind.

He cursed and smothered his face in his hands, shaking his head.

'_Not again_.'

* * *

(I have named the Klingon Attack ship '**gHin-TAQ**' - based on the Klingon word '**ghlntaq**' (pronounced '**ghin-TAK**') - meaning **'Battle Spear**'.)


	27. Prelude To War : Answers

_I began writing the following section about a year before I saw the Season 7 episode in which Buffy learns how the First Slayer was created. __Personally, I thought it was lame. 3 guys in a cave with a box?…Lame. This is the SLAYER history after all! __Where was the deep, epic beginning the Slayer line deserved? Where was the juicy history? __So, I stand firmly by what you are soon to read…_

* * *

**- Prelude To War -**

**--Answers--**

_**27**_

Eight hours later it was the dawn of a thirty-hour day for the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise. This day would be the most crucial of the coming conflict. How well they prepared on this day may determine their success in the next. Unfortunately for the Scooby-Gang, there seemed to be very little they could contribute to this important task.

* * *

Willow Rosenberg, sat at the oval breakfast table in Rupert Giles' quarters, observed under heavy eyelids as he milled about, replicating the breakfast and laying it out. Soup, baguette, fruit and tea in a pot... with waffles and tall lattés for her and Buffy. He was just placing the syrup down on the table to accompany the hot waffles as she watched him.

'_Watchin' the Watcher,_' she jokey-thought. He seemed troubled this morning. Oddly quiet.

The doorbell rang.

"I expect that's Buffy now," Giles surmised, turning to the doors. "Come in. You're la–"

However, when they parted, it was not Buffy standing in the doorway. It was Spike.

"Hey, Giles," said the dead man as he entered and made himself comfortable. He gave the young Wiccan a nod. "Willow."

She smiled back awkwardly.

On seeing Giles was not wearing his usual clothes, Spike stood aghast. "Good God. What happened to your tweed?"

Rupert, wearing a casual Technicolor number, found himself somewhat baffled. "Um…I-I…" He looked at Willow briefly.

Spike guessed she'd already said something similar to him.

"I don't _always_ wear tweed," he finished. "If you must know, …it's being cleaned."

"Cleaned?" Willow puzzled. "They have machines…in the restroom…that can do it in seconds!"

Giles grimaced strenuously. "All these _machines_ doing peoples' work… it's just so…so…so…"

Willow puzzled again. "Giles…you _own_ a washing machine."

"I believe you know perfectly well what I mean," he replied a little impatiently. "I find much of this advanced technology so…demeaning. It-it…undermines the entire human element. Besides," he went on, trying to make a firmer point, "tweed can be extremely delicate…" He stopped then and shook his head. "And there are more critical matters to discuss at this time. …Certainly more critical than my choice of wardrobe. Although," he continued, checking the garish top he wore, "choice is perhaps too strong a word."

"I'm not complaining," Willow stated. " I think it's nice to see you in regular, if a little _Doctor__Who_vian, apparel."

Spike looked him up and down, "Yeah. Nice togs."

Willow nodded. "It's better than the tweed."

Giles, itching at the lining around his neck, replied: "It certainly isn't. There's something to be said for a finely crafted suit of tweed."

"Well," Spike assured him, "I for one look forward to its dramatic return. A man's just not a Watcher without his tweed."

"Thank you, Spike." …Giles caught himself… "Spike? Why are you here?"

"Breakfast." He looked about the room and saw the absence of Buffy. "Where's the Slayer?"

"She's…" The door opened. "…Late."

"Sorry guys," Buffy offered as she entered, looking slightly worse for wear. "What's _he_doing here?" she added on seeing Spike sat nearby.

From Will and Giles she received nothing more than shrugs of uncertainty.

Spike was left to make his own defence. His mouth opened. "…Breakfast," he muttered. That fell flat with the Slayer…so he added: "Meeting. Breakfast meeting. Just seein' what's the what."

Buffy reluctantly accepted that and went to take her seat. "He better not be planning on eating with us," she said to Giles. "Last thing I need this morning is _him_ slurping blood over the breakfast table." She addressed Spike himself and finished: "You have your own room for that."

"Yes," Giles agreed. "I'm still trying to lose the memory of it." Yes, that terrible annus horribilis the year before when poor Rupert was made to take Spike in as a prisoner-cum-lodger could not easily be forgotten.

Somewhat grieved by their attitude, yet not wanting to leave Buffy's company, Spike held his grumbling stomach and lied to them: "Good thing I've already had mine, then, eh?" He remained sat to one side, and said no more.

They ate, and Spike watched. He noted the subdued air that lay over the Scoobs this morning. Things were not well. Not with Buffy, and not with Red. Soon, he learned, things were not well with Rupert either.

Once the table was cleared, and the Gang had moved to the lounge, Giles reported his grave meeting with Picard the night before. They were going to war. He explained that they might be required to board the enemy's ship. This gave Buffy some hope – some chance to fight. But she said nothing of the disturbing dream that still haunted her from the previous night. She said nothing because it seemed to hold little relevance to the here-and-now. Because it frightened her too damn much to even dwell on it. Mainly, she said nothing because, if it _was_ a prophetic Slayer 'vision', there was nothing they could do to help the people back home. Not when they were stuck here. So, she convinced herself it was just a nightmare. The war, however, was quite real. Quite here-and-now.

Willow, for her part, found it was times like these she missed Xander. No doubt, were he here and confronted with a space-battle, he would be making some humorous Star Wars comparison to break the gloom of the moment.

It went down badly when Giles mentioned the opening for their assistance in sickbay.

Buffy took serious offence at the very suggestion of it. "You gotta be kidding me?"

"Now don't be so harsh, Buffy. Doctor Crusher will need our help," said Giles in defence.

"I'm sorry," she retorted, "but I'mnot playing nurse-maid when there's a war on. I'm the Slayer; I should be–"

"Slayin'," Spike finished on her behalf from his corner. "She should be Slayin' …and fightin' evil n' all that. S'what she's built for."

Buffy wasn't impressed. "Nobody asked your opinion, Spike."

His arms went up. What did he have to _do_?

"I just can't do it, Giles," she explained. "I need to be part of the fight."

"I recall a time when you were much less enthusiastic about your calling."

"Things change."

"Buffy." Giles spoke now most earnestly and, even though he had not been her official Watcher for almost two years, it was a voice that still held the power to command her respect. "Not everyone who has a part to play in the coming war will be satisfied with the role they must take. We're no longer in an environment that is within our control. You may find that your feeling of duty must step aside. That your own ego must yield and…and accept that there are others who's place it is to take on the most vital roles."

She did not reply and neither did she meet his gaze. Giles thought it best to give her some space for a moment, and went to get more drinks.

Willow, still sat across from Buffy, observed her friend's silent stupor. The war, coupled with what Giles had just said certainly had got to her. But, to Will, her anxiety seemed to run deeper than that. "Buffy? You okay? You look kinda…zoned-out."

Buffy slowly drifted back and acknowledged her, eventually replying: "No…I mean yeah. I'm…I'm fine." She saw the disbelief in Willow's eyes. "Honest. I'm just… I just had a bad night is all. No big."

Willow would have liked to challenge that, were it not for Giles returning.

"There is one other thing," Giles revealed. "The captain asked for my advice as to what action he should take against the demons in the enemy's army."

"You told him, right?" the Slayer beseeched. "You told him 'shoot-to-kill – take no prisoners'?"

Spike felt compelled to get up from his chair and oppose the former Watcher and his impulsive Slayer. "Hold up, you know damn well they're not in control of themselves. Some of 'em are probably harmless as puppies."

"They're _demons_!" she insisted.

"With no free-will!" Spike countered.

"Yeah?" she asked. "What about Swiss-Army-Hands on the space-station? His will to send us all to hell seemed pretty free to me. We're not in a position to be choosy, Spike. We're going to war!"

"Oh, well then!" Spike lifted his arms and slapped them down to his sides again. She was too narrow-minded to even see his point.

Willow approached the fray from the sidelines. "Guys, wait," she begged, not wanting to see an inner struggle before they even knew all the facts. "Giles? What did you tell him? You told him the truth, right? …Giles?"

He was unable to look her in the eye, "I-I-I-"

"Giles?" besieged Spike.

"Th-These people have _no_ understanding of the demon world," he argued. "Demons would ruin this entire galaxy. Their power and evil would go unchallenged."

"So you lied?" Spike lashed.

"I told him what I had to."

Willow was more shocked than anyone. "Giles… these demons don't have command of their own minds. …You're talking about wiping out an entire species. I don't think Captain Picard is the kind of man who'd want that on his hands. It's…racism."

Giles seemed a little confused by how serious she was taking this. "Willow, I understand, but they'll taint this world with their demonic ways. It's in their very nature. We don't want their blood polluting this reality."

"There you go again," she said. "You sound like a Neo-Nazi. These demons haven't wronged us, yet you wanna line 'em up and send 'em all to the gas chamber anyway." There was a brief silence. Even Spike frowned at her intensity. "…And I realise I'm channelling my mother again, so I'm a little disorientated by that – but I know there was a point in there somewhere."

Spike stepped to her side. "She does have a point… in amongst all that. …'_Wrong us, shall we not revenge_', Giles? Well we haven't been wronged by these people."

"They're _demons_, Spike, not people!" Buffy corrected. "If anyone has a point, it's Giles. How can they fight these monsters when they don't even believe in the supernatural? Everyone we've encountered here – even the captain – are blind to what demons are capable of. Evil is evil. There's no question of what we have to do." The Slayer had spoken, and none dared challenge her at this time. This left a dead space of silence where no one spoke or even moved.

After a beat, Buffy turned to Will. "Any luck with the magic?"

"I think I've got the protection pouch mastered," she replied. "But there's no way to test it until Darkness tries to body-snatch again."

Buffy wasn't her enthusiastic self. "That's less than encouraging."

"And I've been trying to mix together a binding spell," she said. "I'd like to try it out on Spike."

"Bollocks!"

"I doubt that would help us," Giles rebuffed. "Spike bears little resemblance to Darkness."

He nodded expressively. "Yeah – that's right. Rupert's right. I'm just a vampire."

Giles put out a reassuring hand. "Relax, Spike, no one's going to bind you."

"But if it helps Willow's spell," argued the Slayer.

Spike would have gasped if he had any use for air. "Again – _bollocks_," he yelled, before heading right out the door. Who was he kidding? To hell with Buffy! He didn't belong here with these freaks at all.

No sooner had the doors slid shut behind him, than Buffy followed on his heels. The doors closed a second time and all was quiet and restful at last in Rupert's quarters. At that moment, it occurred to him to regard his clothes. "Doctor Whovian?"

Willow gave a definite nod. "Tom Baker."

Giles raised an eyebrow in a sign of agreeable gratitude. Being compared to Tom Baker's Who… He liked the sound of that.

* * *

"Spike, wait!" Buffy called as she caught up with him in the corridor.

"Why?" he turned and spat. "So that second-rate witch can run her tests on me? Huh? Maybe liquefy my insides while she's at it?"

"What?" She dismissed his attitude. "Don't be melodramatic."

"I'm not one of yer poncy groupies, Slayer," he slammed. "I'm not here to help the witch turn a spell, and I'm _certainly_ not your obedient sidekick. Never been much of a team player. You ask yer ex-honey Angel about that if you ever see the pastey nonce again. Assumin' you're not stuck here for the rest of your life. Or, in my case, for all eternity! Which reminds me; I didn't _ask_ to come here! So don't look so shocked that I'm a tad pissed off. I'd much rather have missed this little Slayer-family outin'."

There came a long beat in which she glared at him, just so he knew not to push it. Once that was clear to him, she went on: "Noneof us asked to be here, Spike. And the rest of us don't _have_ eternity to find a way back to the only place we belong. …So get over yourself."

She could stare him down all she liked, even kick his ass all over the ship for all he cared, but he wasn't taking any more of her crap. "Get over myself? Do you even _hear_ what your sayin'? Get over myself? …Tell me; this war we're headin' for… When you've finished annihilatin' all my demon cousins… am I next on your hit-list?" He stuck his finger right in her face. "You people are no better than this 'Darkness' git. Either he kills all you, or you kill all them… It's bloody genocide however it ends."

Yet again, she found herself dumbstruck.

Genocide. That was a serious concept. After all, wasn't that what she and Giles had promoted back in the room? The outright murder of an entire race with no consideration of each being as an individual. Perhaps they _were_ no better than 'Darkness'. Spike may actually have made a profound point. So profound to her that she may have left it there and watched him walk away had she not made a sudden recollection. "Why did you turn back?" she asked, drawing his attention. "Back on that market planet…You wouldn't follow us into town. You turned back."

"What of it?" he dismissed.

She chose to come right out with her suspicions. "You can feel it, can't you? The Darkness. You can sense when he's close?"

"Oh. Right. After information as usual. There's a shock."

She ignored his nonsense. "You were afraid? …Of his power?"

"I wasn't afraid! …Just…didn't care to meet him up-close is all."

"But you knew he was near? You could sense where he was?"

The penny dropped in his mind. "You…wanna use me as a bloody compass?"

"I'm just trying to establish the strength of our hand, Spike," she explained.

Spike inwardly shook his head. He fancied it actually hurt him to think she only ever wanted him for his slaying abilities. "You're only bein' civil to me now 'cos you _need_ me," he pointed out.

"This is about teamwork, and beating the enemy," Buffy said. "Would you rather I twisted your arm?" she asked, threatening violence.

"I know I'm not part of yer group, Buffy," Spike acknowledged. "And at least when you talk with your fists I know your bein' honest."

This time he did walk away. She didn't call after him, and a good thing too as it would have been pointless. He didn't much care what happened from hereon in. Because, as much as his help was required, he would never be _wanted_. Also, there was something else that interested him. Something he'd realised when the Slayer reminded him of that dust planet. A very peculiar incident that he wanted to understand as soon as possible, because the answers might well change things for him. He passed by the turning to his quarters and carried on to the elevator. He wasn't going to sulk in his room anymore. Not now. First, he would have to pay someone a visit.

* * *

Ten-Forward seemed much like the breakfast fast-lane that morning. The entire crew were facing such a busy day, people were literally flying in from the corridor, snatching up food and devouring it in seconds, before speeding away again. Many didn't even stay to eat – taking their morning meals away with them. It gave a whole new meaning to the concept of 'fast-food'.

Two individuals who had stayed to eat a light breakfast, and were still sat with their drinks, were the Federation ambassador to Qo'nos, and the ships' counsellor.

Worf, for his part, was eager to get to business. But Deanna had kept him from leaving, keen instead to discuss a matter she believed to be far more pressing…

"Maybe you're going about it all wrong, Worf," she said, taking a sip of hot chocolate.

Worf, in full Klingon garb and sat with a tankard of prune juice at hand, puzzled. "In what way, Counsellor?"

"Well, Buffy is…fairly unique," she explained. "Rather than trying to change her into a Klingon, think about how you might help her to develop her own natural abilities. Introduce her to the _spirit_ of your beliefs and history, and open her mind to new possibilities while allowing her to find her own method."

Worf, as ever, had trouble admitting he was entirely at fault. "But her style is…"

Deanna observed him with a cynical yet mocking expression.

"But she is…"

Still Troi gave him that sarcastic look.

"She is…unfocused and…"

Troi shifted her head expectantly. How it annoyed him when she did that. How she could always diminish all of his strength and make him feel completely foolish.

Eventually, Worf simply stated: "…She is a _bad_ student."

Deanna smiled and picked up her mug again. "You're resourceful, Ambassador. I'm sure you'll come up with something." She took a drink as Worf's face contorted. She added: "I suppose it's a good thing for her that Klingons don't shy away from a challenge. Isn't that right?"

Worf grumbled.

Troi finished her beverage then, and prepared to leave. "Look, Worf, I need a word with Beverly, and I know you have a great deal to do, so I wont keep you." She decided to simplify what she was trying to tell him, in the hope he would understand more clearly. "Just…teach her something she doesn't already know."

She began to go, but Worf stopped her with a gentle hand. "She made a comment about my lack of observation," he revealed. "I am beginning to wonder whether I misunderstood her meaning."

The counsellor sighed and rested a caring hand on his arm. "Not all observation is physical, Worf. Sometimes you need to be observant of people's _emotional_ wellbeing."

He watched Troi go thoughtfully, and suspected she had a better understanding of the Slayer than she had let on.

* * *

Spike pulled into sickbay and strode right by two medics who tried to ask him his business, but seemed too afraid to try and stop him. Another jumped out of his way as he made for the doc's private office.

He was about to enter, when the guard who had been trailing him since he stepped off the elevator now took hold of his arm and forced him to a stop.

The vampire snapped his head around with full monster features and gave the frightened man a thunderous growl. The guard shuddered and recoiled from the platinum-haired beast.

Doctor Crusher appeared in the opening to her office to investigate the disturbance. "Can I help you?" she enquired, unaware Spike was in vamp-mode.

Spike set aside the guard and focused on the doc, suddenly relaxing his demon face. "Hi, Doc. Er…was wonderin' if we could have a private chat?" he asked sheepishly. "If ya got a minute?"

Doctor Crusher frowned, stepped aside, and allowed him to enter. "I suppose I could spare a moment. Please; take a seat."

Spike did, the feeling he had of being out of his environment clear by the way he sat with his knees together, rubbing his hands awkwardly.

The doctor's office occupied a small semi-circular space in the corner of sickbay, just to the left of the doors. The office itself had a wide entranceway and a large window which looked out on main sickbay. By the window, the doc had a curved grey desk with a high-backed chair, and behind this was her own computer wall panel. At the rear of the office was a free-standing workstation. The walls were of the same dull beige and grey of the rest of sickbay, with the same red carpet edged in grey/brown.

Crusher accessed her medical database, and brought over a PADD. She took her seat. "How can I help you, Mr…" She discretely perused over the PADD she held. The silence stretched a little far.

"Spike," he informed her at last. "Just Spike."

She smiled. "How can I be of assistance, Spike?"

He took a deep breath – for its symbolic purpose, rather than the oxygen. "It's about this chip I've got in my head."

Crusher eyed the PADD again. "Yes. It did show up on your medical scan. Though I wasn't sure what to make of it. Initially, I didn't realise it served any purpose. Your brain seems to be dead, after all. But I did catch a rumour that it somehow prevents you from killing people?"

"What you don't know is it's a nasty little bugger," he explained. "Goes off like a bottle rocket if ever I try to hurt anyone. So, …I was wonderin', y'know, with all these gadgets and technology you've got … don't suppose you could just … pop it out of there?"

"Aaah." The doctor discarded the PADD. "Well, …I'm afraid not. You see, Spike, it would be against all that I stand for. We have certain directives of non-interference. You yourself don't belong in this universe; therefore, I can't use our technology to cure your existing long-term medical problems. It's just not an option."

"I see."

"I'm sorry."

"Bloody ditto." Spike sat there a while, his hopes dashed. He'd truly thought he was finally rid of the damn thing. The idea of forcing her to take it out crossed his mind briefly, before he remembered that he couldn't hurt her. He couldn't hurt _her_.

Suddenly his mind was brought around to the reason he came to see her to begin with. Answers.

"Is there anything else I can help you with while you're here?" she asked sympathetically.

"Now that you mention it," he replied, "there _is_ something I've been tryin' to figure. …This chip …it stops me from harmin' people. The non-demon variety. But demons; I can hurt demons. I can bloody-well pulverise demons. Just not regular people."

Crusher nodded, a little uncertainly.

"But, back on that sandpit planet, I kinda…got into a fight."

"I heard about that," she recalled.

"Wasn't my fault," he assured her. "I didn't start it."

"I'm sure."

Spike continued: "Like I said, it was a fight. Not a getting-my-ass-kicked. A _fight_. …I didn't even think about it, I just went in all fists and fangs like."

Crusher frowned heavy. "Really? And the chip?"

"Not even a tremor," he answered. "Don't get me wrong, they were bloody ugly, but demons they weren't."

"That does raise an interesting point," Crusher said, suddenly making notes on her PADD. "Perhaps the chip is only able to determine between just the two options: 'human' or 'demon'. If so, it may be that it doesn't recognise aliens as human, instead assuming they are demon."

"Yeah, well, that's what I was thinkin' myself," he fibbed. "But the chip doesn't work like that." He searched his memory, and recalled the recent incident with Tara and her family. "It's like last week – this girl, she _looked_ human. Thought she was part demon – that's what her dear-old-Dad told her anyway. So I smacked her one."

Crusher grimaced.

"Turns out she was clean. She _looked_ human, and she _was_. But some demons look like regular people. My chip can tell if someone has demon _in_ them, or not. So… why can I hurt aliens?" he begged. "They're just people, aren't they? Born on diff'rent planets, but still with a soul."

The doctor made the most obvious hypothesis: "The chip might not be able to make that distinction."

"So…what you're saying is… as far as my chip's concerned… all aliens are demons?"

"I can't give you an answer to that without running some detailed tests."

At that moment, Deanna Troi poked her head through the doors. "Beverly? …This a bad time?"

Crusher looked to Spike and he gave a wave of his hand to signal he didn't mind.

Doctor Crusher invited Troi in and, as the two women discussed their own matters, Spike watched them closely. Specifically the counsellor.

Deanna trailed off slowly as she realised the vampire was eyeing her most oddly.

"You," he said simply with that hunger in his eye.

Troi could not judge the dead man's feelings, but her own told her to be wary. "Me?"

"You're… You're a…a … What _are_ you?"

"A Betazoid," she replied, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

Spike's eyes burned for her now. "Right. An _alien_. Not human."

Deanna unconsciously stepped back to the wall. "That's right."

There was a pause. She felt desperate to know his intentions.

Spike sprang from his chair and lunged at Troi viciously. He pinned her to the wall; fangs released, and went in for the kill.

His head exploded with pain. Spike stepped back, clutching his sore skull, turning to Crusher with only desperate pleading now in his eyes.

Deanna, still pinned by a fear and confusion she'd never encountered before, managed to turn her eyes to her so-called friend and squeak: "…Beverly?"

Crusher, fascinated, replied: "It's alright, Deanna." To Spike she said: "Maybe we should take a closer look at that chip?"

He scoffed, still holding his head together. "Y'think?"

* * *

The bridge of the USS Rutherford was already a flurry of activity when Captain Dave Freeman arrived in the turbolift. Before he even reached his chair, seven people had stopped him for his opinion on various subjects.

He put up his hands and gathered everyone's attention. "First thing's first. Let's get all shuttles with weapons capability prepped for deployment," he instructed. "We're gonna skin them to the bone and remove _anything_ that's not essential for fighting. We need them as light as possible. Any extra speed and manoeuvrability we can get is an improvement." He pointed to his second officer. "Sass – sort out the best pilots we have. I'll need one for every shuttle."

Lt. Swift spun in his seat at Conn. "I'm da best pilot onboard, Cap'n."

"I can't argue with that, Chevva," Dave replied. "That's why I need you steering the Rutherford. This'll be a tight fight and she's a bulky and awkward ship. I need the best at her helm."

Chevva nodded happily.

"Taana," Dave went on, addressing the furry security chief, "pick out your best tactical sharpshooters. I want a top gunner on each shuttle. And I want the shuttles ready to fly within twelve hours."

. Dan Oom, the part-Vulcan Betazoid with a head of styled blond hair and beard, reported: "I've been thinking of a way to boost the Rutherford's shields for greater protection."

Trill first officer, Cmdr. Vaun, observed from his command seat: "If we're stripping the shuttles innards, can't we fit some kind of secondary shield generator?"

Dave considered it. "Sounds plausible," he noted. "Dan?"

The Vulcazoid replied: "Well, I'm sure it can be done. But with the time we have, and without weighing the shuttles down again… the secondary generator would be very small…with limited usage. I couldn't say it would offer much protection. It might stop a phaser blast or two at best."

"Anything's something," the captain concluded. "I'll take whatever's on offer. Dan, Taana – get on that for me. You'll need to construct enough for the Enterprise' shuttles as well as our own."

Gataana and Danil made immediately for the turbolift.

"Dan, soon as you build five, send them right to the Enterprise. They can begin fitting them while you make more. You've got–"

"Less than thirty hours," Dan finished. "I know"

"Everyone," Dave said, regaining their attention. "In the meantime, do what you can to oil the cogs." He moved to the lift and waited a moment for another carriage to arrive.

Commander Vaun frowned. "Where are _you_ going?"

Dave tapped his badge. "Captain to engineering. If you can spare a team, Hoop, have them meet me in my yacht." He entered the lift and stated: "Captain's yacht." He gave Vaun a wink. "The bridge is yours."

Vaun looked about the bridge and came to rest on Commander Romani. "He enjoys this far too much," he said.

* * *

Onboard both the Rutherford and the Enterprise, crews from every department set to work.

On the latter, La Forge oversaw the prepping of their first shuttlecraft. It was stripped of all scientific equipment but that required for tactical purposes. The transporter was left in place for emergency purposes, yet some redundant systems – long-range molecular imaging sensor clusters, secondary pattern buffer, long-range targeting scanners and the biofilters – were removed for their weight and bulk. Though this diminished its capability and safety, it did leave it functioning. Once the fat was carved from its bones, all remaining systems on the shuttle were re-calibrated to give maximum immediate efficiency. Either these shuttles weren't expected to last very long, or the war was expected to be over swiftly.

Geordi also oversaw the installation of the first of the Rutherford's secondary shield generators. It was a small, lightweight, simple device and, once it was fitted and tested, proved to create only a slight protective field. It was enough to offer a degree of additional shielding, however, if the main generator of the shuttle was damaged.

Once he'd set his crew about preparing the other Enterprise' shuttles and captain's yacht in the same way, he returned to engineering where the remainder of his time would be spent perfecting the performance of the starship engines and devising the greatest level of protection he could apply to the warp core of the Enterprise. He worked closely with Cmdr. Hooper on the Rutherford and, together, they came to some inspiring theories, though half turned out to be impractical or impossible.

As for tactical, with the aid of Ambassador Worf and Chancellor Martok, weapons and shields were boosted to their most effective.

And medical had only to gather the sum of their resources and await the flood of patients.

* * *

In sickbay, Dr. Crusher was explaining: "It's a very simple device connected to key neural systems by these root-like pathways."

On the main medical viewer, they were looking at a computer image of Spike's 'dead' brain. Nested within the grey matter cells at the heart of it, lay a small piece of technology from which long tentacles reached out into the depths of his cerebrum.

Present were Picard, Troi, Buffy, Willow, Crusher, and Spike.

Beverly pointed out another section of the scan. "It has optical sensors connected to the lateral geniculate nucleus of your thalamus, and a second sensor scanning for a frequency not on any scale I can identify."

"Ooh," said Willow, "spooky-sensor."

The doctor smiled before continuing: "In short; it appears to be receiving mixed messages. Or, in other words, it's confused."

"It's not alone," Buffy complained. "What are you saying?"

"This is a twentieth century device functioning in a twenty-fourth century environment," Crusher outlined. "It pre-dates first contact with alien life. Because most aliens don't _look_ human, the visual sensor is being told 'demon', but the… 'spooky sensor' is recording human – due either to the lack of a 'demon spirit' or the presence of a living soul. …With only a fraction of a second to make a determination, the chip seems to be…making a guess. Or an informed choice. The chances are; aliens who look human will be judged as human, and those who have a more non-human appearance may be judged as 'demon'."

Deanna, now much calmer, addressed them all: "In my case, the chip functioned perfectly; I don't look like a demon and I have a soul. Therefore I must be human."

The doctor nodded. "I would guess that, the less human an alien appears, the greater the chance that the chip will allow Spike to hurt them."

Spike forgot himself and smiled.

Buffy gave him the Eyes of Death.

"I mean…that's a _bad_ thing," he assured them.

But, as the others put his moment of darkness to one side and moved off, Picard was left with a deep suspicion.

Shortly after, he and Beverly were alone with Spike's brain scan before them.

But Beverly was scanning her captain's face. It bore his introspective expression. "Concerned?" she asked.

Picard thought long and hard before replying. "No. Not anymore."

She gave him a frown.

"Soon I'll be faced with a choice," He explained. "If we succeed in our mission, do I destroy all trace of these 'demon' creatures?"

"A moral dilemma."

"It _was_," he said. "I had my doubts even when Mr. Giles assured me of their inability to renounce their evil ways…"

"But now?"

"I saw the look in his eyes just a moment ago, Beverly." He visibly shivered. "I've never seen anything so disturbing in all my years. I saw the thirst of a soulless monster. And now… now I'm beginning to wonder if my reservations were unfounded."

* * *

Buffy, in the meantime, had found herself out in the hallway, confronted by the Psychic Shrink.

"Buffy?" Deanna sensed immediately the apprehension the young woman felt. It seemed to her that Buffy was uncomfortable with both her empathic and psychological abilities.

"I have things to do." Buffy hesitated, aware that the counsellor probably knew she was lying. "Actually, that's not true. But… I have things _not_ to do. Excuse me." Buffy's current fear was that Troi could pick up on her fears regarding home, Dawn, her Mom. And she really didn't want to go into that.

"I hear you and Worf had a disagreement over your training," Troi remarked.

"Oh," Buffy said, having expected her to bring up a different topic altogether. "Yeah. The Klingon stuff. I guess it's just not my thing. I mean; what's the point in using mats when they feel like concrete?" she quipped.

Deanna stifled a laugh. That sounded like Worf all right. "Klingons _are_ thick-skinned. In many ways. Maybe that's what's so challenging about them."

"Challenging?" pondered Buffy. "I wouldn't say that. They're just barbarians after all."

"Oh, no. They're certainly not barbarians," Troi assured. "They have incredible depth. For example; honour, duty, truth, loyalty, …_family_… are all foundations of the Klingon code."

'_Family?_' …Buffy opened her mouth… "I didn't know that."

Picard exited sickbay and signalled Troi to join him.

"Really?" she replied to the Slayer. "A pity. There's much that can be learned from them. It's a shame you have other things not to do." She smiled and left with the captain, knowing full-well she'd said just the right thing to give Buffy a nudge in the right direction. She wasn't certain why, but she felt compelled to bring the two of them together. Perhaps it was the fire she sensed in them both. The unrelenting warrior spirit. Either that or their damn stubborn arrogance.

* * *

With a little help from the Enterprise' computer, Buffy found Worf in astrometrics with his Klingon party and a number of security officers. They were gathered around a large table before a huge wall-screen that bore a virtual image of the battlefield ahead. They were plotting tactics and planning strategy in a frenzy when she arrived.

She'd gone against her first instinct and decided to ask Worf for a second chance as a student of Klingon martial arts – chiefly because she _needed_ to occupy herself, and partly because she wanted to learn if the counsellor was right about Klingons.

Buffy entered the room and waited. The assembly seemed so busy, and for the longest time her presence went unnoticed. When she was finally spotted, it was first by the Starfleets. People started looking her way until the Klingons noticed their sudden stillness and turned to see her. The warriors visibly tensed when they saw the Slayer standing by the door.

The room fell quiet.

Buffy felt every eyeball in the room probing her most uncomfortably. "…Hi."

Worf set them all back to work and made his way over to her. "Are you lost?"

"No," replied Buffy, "I…I wanted to ask you a favour. But you seem kinda busy. I'll go."

"That would be wise," he coldly agreed.

She realised she'd done the wrong thing by going there and, rather embarrassed, she decided to return to her room and mope. She paused halfway out. "Actually…I wanted to…apologies. For last night. I…I–"

"Your apology is unnecessary," he replied; her admission of fault giving him cause to acknowledge he was also to blame for that disaster. He had to respect her for that. And for her abilities. Her emotions were so powerful that they had enabled her to slip past his defences so easily on their previous training session. He may very well be able to teach her something about his own path to being a warrior. But, at the same time, he may be able to learn what it is to be a 'Slayer'.

"Wait," he said before she disappeared. "If you wish to meet me in the hall again…in one hour…I would be happy to attempt our training a second time."

Buffy showed a hint of a smile. "One hour," she acknowledged before letting him get back to his work.

* * *

One hour later, the Slayer was in the exercise hall as planned waiting for the Klingon. She hadn't changed into the sparring uniform as last time. She hoped it wouldn't set them off on the wrong foot, but she preferred her own clothes. She still wore her own black vest and trousers she'd arrived in – cleaned for the fifth time since then.

Worf arrived a few minutes later, also not in the white Karate-gi. Instead he wore his traditional Klingon ambassadorial uniform. Black with grey padding and silver sash; adorned with Klingon symbols. It was almost the same as the uniform all the other Klingons she'd seen were wearing. He was also holding one of those unusual swords she'd seen on the station.

He stepped over to her and presented her with it. "This…is a _bat'leth_," he said with passion. "It is the Klingon Sword of Honour."

She took it in hand and felt its weight.

"The very first bat'leth was formed more than fifteen hundred years ago by Kahless the Unforgettable," Worf said, recounting the tales of old. " Kahless dropped a lock of his own hair into the lava from the Kri'stak volcano, and then he _plunged_ the fiery lock into the lake of Lursor and twisted it to form a blade. After forging the weapon, he used it to defeat the tyrant _Molor_, and in doing so united the Klingon Homeworld."

"Oh," she responded, impressed yet unsure what to make of such a tall tale.

"Mine has been in my family for ten generations," he explained, drawing his from its sheath on his back.

"That doesn't look like hair," she dared to say.

"No. It is composed of baakonite. I have replicated the one you are holding…for you to train with."

Worf had decided, rather than teaching her how to be a _Klingon_ warrior, he would show her the Klingon path to _becoming_ a warrior. The weapons, and the spirit. Then to let her use that knowledge and those methods in her own way. He showed her how it was held – across the inner arm – and how it was gripped. He began by asking her to block his bat'leth with her own.

He swung, she blocked, and they locked swords.

He asked her then what she would do, and she pushed him back and stood ready for him to attack her again.

"No," he said, this time very softly; more helpful and tolerant than before. "Now you have broken the cycle and left yourself too open to attack. You may wish to remain close to me, disallowing me the opportunity to observe your movement clearly. That way I cannot make a passable return strike. Try to change the line of sight – alter your path – confuse your attacker. Make _him_ play by _your_ rules."

She understood. She knew how to do that well enough. So she tried again.

Blocking, she rolled close to him and around until they were back-to-back, and fake-stabbed him.

"Good," he remarked approvingly.

He taught her that, because they were close together, it would be difficult to use powerful blows. "Power does not mean strength," he explained, knowing she had great power for her size. "Strength is a matter of resolve, spirit and will." He taught her where the weak points were found with the blade; the best blows with the least power.

Buffy mentioned that, often, she faces multiple attackers and therefore cannot fight close-range.

Worf growled. "_That_ is when a warrior's skills with a bat'leth shine." He demonstrated how to wield the Sword of Honour – swinging it artfully around in a way to keep multiple opponents at a distance.

She played around with her replicated one. After only a handful of minutes, she was swinging and spinning it wildly, but controlled. Possibly better than Worf. But not correctly.

He was about to complain when he recalled that she must find her own style. So he let it pass.

They sparred with the swords for a long time after.

Eventually they wore each other down. But neither would admit that.

"What about multiple attackers hand-to-hand?" Buffy spurred.

So, he taught her not to simply punch a face here, kick a chest there, but that the most important thing is POWER and ACCURACY. Hit hard in precision spots:

The Klingon _quv bey' 'eDjen_.

NOSE with ball of hand. Between SHOULDERS with axe-handle. FIST, KNEE, KICK right where the base of ribs is – to impact lungs. THROAT.

POWER and ACCURACY.

They practised for hours with and without the blades until they were no longer practising, but truly fighting.

Worf's fist skimmed her ear and she brought up her forearm to push it away. He caught her wrist with the other and made a strike at her gut, but Buffy quickly wrapped her free arm around his. Worf returned the favour, and they were locked.

"You said yesterday that only in battle can you learn who you are," she stated, through pain and clenched teeth.

"In facing death and meeting your end lies honour," he replied, grimacing in her grip. "In facing death and surviving the battle lies both honour AND the enrichment of your spirit."

Buffy broke away, rolled across to her bat'leth, and came up with it resting along her inner arm as Worf had taught her. She raised that arm until one point of the sword was looking to the heavens; her other arm stretched out in a karate pose. "Sounds like a win-win situation." She beckoned him.

"There is no greater honour one can achieve, for oneself or those who follow you, than to die bravely in battle," he said, retrieving his sword and swinging it at her face.

Buffy trapped his blade in the curve of her own. "Slayers are doomed to die fighting."

Worf half-smiled. "Death is your release. Do not fear it; for death in combat is the path to a warrior's afterlife." He tightened their locked swords until they were a hair's breadth apart. "Face it. AIM for it. Take hold of your bat'leth and DRIVE yourself under its wings."

"Actually, that's the part I usually try to avoid." She pushed him back.

Worf steadied himself and came to rest in the pose of the 'Deadly Assassin'. "You fight, yet you fear death. A warrior's heart is at its most resolute when confronting death, and there is no stronger warrior than he who is prepared to die in the fight."

She lowered her weapon. "It's hard…It's _impossible_…not to be afraid. I like living."

"Do not confuse fear with the natural instinct to survive. Ask yourself this: Would you wish to die frail, old; body crippled by age and disease? …Or with a sword in your hand, and your enemies' blood flowing at your feet?"

"How do _you_ fight the instinct to survive?"

Worf suddenly attacked while her guard was down. She barely blocked in time.

"It is a human instinct. I am KLINGON."

Buffy focused herself again. "So how can _I_ fight my natural instinct to survive?"

She cut into his side, but Worf slid his bat'leth into the path of hers and gripped its handle to halt her.

"Part of you is human, part of you is warrior. Let go of your human principles. Set aside all your preconceptions."

"And then what?"

Worf smiled a rugged snarl. "Let your TRUE nature emerge!"

Worf shoved her back, then tried to kill her.

They fought hard – to the death – but each was too keen of senses to be struck badly. Without pause, they battled.

Worf took a cut to his leg and a smash to his face yet it did not phase him.

Buffy; hair beginning to fall from its tail and pasting against her sweat-covered brow, snarled at him suddenly as she pounded his sword, locked it, and swung it aside – ramming a fierce elbow into his side.

Worf lost his lungs and fell to his knees, gasping. "Yes! …You are freeing yourself! …Cast off your insecurities. Release the beast within and FEEL the blood BURN as it flows through your veins."

She then became suddenly self-conscious. The exhaustion hit her then and she was forced to relax.

Worf took advantage of the opening. He gripped his bat'leth and shot it up into her face. She flinched and it missed her nose, catching her in the mouth. She was lifted from her feet and sent slamming into hard floor. The sword flew from her grip. She huffed in exasperation. Feeling with her hand, she found blood on her lips.

Worf stood over her, unapologetic.

"I know," she said. "Let my guard down. My bad." She let out a huff. "But I'm spent."

Secretly, Worf was more than glad to hear that. As soon as he returned to his quarters, he knew he'd collapse in the doorway. To hell with making it to his bed. He found the strength left to help her up. "If I was an enemy, you would be dead," he stated.

She rolled her eyes, then recalled: "Spike once told me that Slayers before me have died because they wanted it."

Worf set his weapon down and relaxed. "You have knowledge of Slayers before you?"

"In books; records. And Spike killed two before I was even born. Back in his chipless days."

"Did they die in battle?"

"They died fighting," Buffy acknowledged, looking at her own hands – her weapons – and how fresh and youthful her skin appeared. "They died young." She tried to look unfazed. "Slayers don't live much passed twenty. Which means my time could be anytime." She thought ahead to the following day's confrontation. "It could be tomorrow."

Then Worf said something that left her mind spinning: "And what tale would you wish to have told about _your_ final actions?"

He left her to gather towels so they could wipe their brows.

* * *

When Worf returned, he found her standing before one of the great banners that lined the walls. Her eyes were intensely fixed upon it. It was a massive portrait, completely hand-woven; the largest of its kind, bearing the figures of two Klingons locked in combat.

"Is it symbolic?" she asked him. "I mean; does it represent, y'know, the whole 'Klingons are warriors' deal?"

"To some, perhaps," he said. "That is Kahless…and his brother _Morath_. For twelve days and nights they fought each other, because Morath had dishonoured their family. Legend tells us Morath then threw their father's sword into the sea so that Kahless could not claim it. But Kahless was brave and resolute. He held his breath for three days until he found his father's sword. …When Kahless defeated the tyrant Molor, he founded the Klingon Empire and set the standard for all following generations of Klingons."

"Wow. Your people really do have a rich history. Everything you are… Everything you stand for today… Can be traced right back to that one person. You're part of his warrior lineage." She instantly felt the burden of a great sadness she carried. Even having met the First Slayer, she knew next to nothing about the beginnings of the Slayers. She envied the Klingons to a degree. She too was part of a warrior race – the line of Slayers.

But they had their tales to tell.

She had none.

"You are a warrior," Worf queried. "You must have great stories of your own?"

"I'm the Slayer," she put simply. "I kill monsters. That's why I have these powers."

"But why you? What is your purpose in being… A Slayer?"

She had no answer for him.

"You are THE Slayer? There are no others?"

"'There can be only one'," replied Buffy. "Only there's two," she added. "But that's a whole other piece of the Slayer lineage."

Worf's brow knitted into a frown.

"…It involves me dying and another Slayer being called. Except it wasn't Faith; she's the current Slayer. This one was Kendra, but she was killed; by Spike's ex-squeeze, so now it's just me. Oh, and Faith. But she's a little…cuckoo. Killed a man, serving time in a federal penitentiary. …And you're stories sound much better than mine."

Worf regarded her for a while, almost attempting a response a couple of times.

Buffy stared at the banner some more. Kahless and his brother. She wondered; would there ever be banners of the Slayer and her sister? …Her sister. Dawn.

Whenever she thought of Dawn lately, she was filled with a disturbing restlessness. Like Dawn was in desperate need of her protection. Her sister, the Key. But the Key to what? And what kind of trouble could she be in? And what would Buffy need to do to help her? And what about her Mom? Was she really ill? And how bad?… It was beyond frustrating.

If things really were going wrong at home, if she was still there, could she have changed things?

"Do Klingons believe in destiny?"

"A true Klingon will forge his own destiny," he answered.

"That's fine if you know where you want to go."

Worf began to see that Deanna had been correct. Something was certainly troubling the Slayer. "You are tense. Something burdens you."

She shifted but didn't reply.

Worf decided to recount a suitable story to help her uncertainty. "Kahless was burdened deeply by Molor's rule of his people. As one of his faithful Warlords, Kahless was required to collect taxes from them. One fateful morning in the village of M'riiah, he confronted the starving villagers – plagued by years of drought and unable to pay Molor's tax. …Kahless' orders were strict: Collect the tax or burn the village. …Kahless could not bring himself to further torture these people and, in a moment of leniency, told the villagers that their tax would be forgotten this time.

It was Molor's son, however, who refused to leave without exacting his father's form of justice. But Kahless' honour would not allow such an atrocity to go unchallenged. The son of Molor was slain at Kahless' hand. In time, so too was the tyrant Molor." He turned to her. "If Kahless had been a weaker man, The Klingon Empire would be nothing more than a dream. In order to progress…burdens must be faced."

Again she shifted, but this time she eventually spoke. "I have dreams sometimes. Prophetic dreams. They usually come true, or help me see what's ahead."

"Indeed this is a great gift. Dreams can be as powerful as a vision. You are lucky to have such a gift. Your Gods have blessed you."

"That's one way to look at it, I guess." She paused, and decided to trust him with some of her thoughts. "Last night was one of the strangest. I remember dreaming I was a bird," she revealed, missing out the Dawn/Riley/Demon-Bitch part. "I think it was an eagle," she said. "It felt like an eagle. Not that I know what it feels like to be an eagle."

"Eagles are a predatory bird," Worf explained with wonder, "honoured in many human religions as a sign of strength and bravery." It was an animal that suited her character, he thought. "It may be your spiritual guide…or your spiritual self."

"I think it was trying to tell me something important. I just can't figure out what." She sighed. "I don't have time to wait for another."

The Klingon considered her plight a moment. "Perhaps you would benefit from a vision quest."

She looked to him hopefully.

"There is a Klingon ritual known as the Rite of MajQa. It takes place in the lava caves of No'Mat. The effect of the intense heat and deep meditation within those caves induces the visions. Often they are profound revelations that effect the path of a Klingon's life." It was his belief that such a quest may help her on her spiritual journey. To learn something about herself, or to learn what course to take.

"I don't suppose this place is on our flight-path?" she jested with defeat.

"It may not have to be," he considered. "Come."

He began to depart the hall and she followed.

"There is time before I must return to planning our attack," he decided.

"Do you think you'll really board his ship?" she asked him.

"We will try."

"I _need_ to be there," she urged, appealing to his sense of honour.

"I will see what can be arranged."

Buffy then asked a question that worried her: "Everything you've been saying about death… You expect to die tomorrow, don't you?"

"We may all die tomorrow."

"I can't accept that."

"And that is your weakness."

The hall was left empty as the doors closed shut.

* * *

When Cmdr. Riker arrived at the structural integrity field waveguide access hatch on deck 6 to check crew progress, he discovered Lt. Preston and Ensign Logan huddled together at the conduit port talking heatedly under their breath. They were supposed to be creating a temporary junction – connecting to other key systems in case they'd need to instantly route extra power to the integrity field. It was just one of the many shortcuts being built as a back-up.

As Riker approached unseen, however, he caught the Lt. saying:

"You need to stop questioning everything and follow the orders you're set."

"Even when they undermine everything that Starfleet teaches us?" the young ensign quickly responded. "Whoever gave the go-ahead for this 'mission' should be packed-off to Romulus."

"Whoever gave the go-ahead for this mission, _Ensign_," Riker boomed sternly, "had a _damn_ good reason and _very_ little option!"

The young men spun, Ensign Logan almost choking on his tongue at the first instant, before regaining his conviction. "I'm sorry, Commander, if I'm out of line… but I've only been out of the academy for six weeks and I came here to map our galaxy… not to make war. And I can't understand it. …Just what are we fighting, sir?"

Riker had to admit that the Ensign, barely a man, was only expressing openly what many of the younger officers were feeling. "For all intents and purposes, …Commander Data – under the influence of a foreign entity," he explained with no further hint of his initial displeasure.

"I read the report, Commander," Logan stated, "but…people are talking…saying crazy things about… about zombies…and monsters. Like the universe has gone mad."

Riker let out a nasal sigh. "First thing I'll say is: I know exactly what you mean. I still have that same confusion. I'm not a believer in the supernatural, Logan, yet I don't know if we'll ever fully explain what we've encountered here. But, what _is_ clear, is that if we fail tomorrow, our time in this universe will end. Our galaxy will cease to exist… and there won't _be_ anyone left to map it."

The young ensign's mouth lay open a while before he added: "Is it true he's got a hundred ships?"

"Almost a hundred _shuttles_," Will corrected. "And _one_ Bird of Prey. Against two Federation starships and a Klingon attack cruiser. We hold the winning hand, Ensign." He laid a firm grip on Logan's shoulder. "Together with the hands of hundreds of expert officers such as yourself…the Enterprise will hold fast."

Ensign Logan nodded his understanding and almost seemed to grow in height. He returned to the conduit with Preston and eagerly got back to work.

Riker, on the other hand, was not so eager. 'The Enterprise will hold fast' he'd said.

He hoped he was not wrong.

* * *

Buffy arrived at the holodeck on level 8 with Worf, and watched as he set up the necessary program.

When finished, Worf stepped to her side. "It is ready," he told her, and directed the computer: "Computer, run program '_No'Mat_'."

The ship's computer chirped. "Program initiated. You may enter when ready."

He offered her the door and, with little idea what she was walking into, she stepped through into the Klingon lava caves of No'Mat.

Buffy found herself in a narrow rocky tunnel. A dull glow from a source deep within the caves lit her surroundings.

Behind them, the doors closed and dissolved. Buffy moved forward, deeper into the passageway. Around them, the rock walls radiated heat, and volcanic ash lay a carpet at her feet and settled on the rock face. She navigated the caves easily, as there was just one possible route to take; leading to the light source, and soon they entered a small area. A circular chamber with Klingon figures circling the walls carved from the rock. Beyond, a red glow could be seen from the lava below and such shocking heat rose from it. In the centre, a fire burned. A fire that was never permitted to die out, burning for hundreds of years in the real caves of No'Mat.

To create the necessary realism for a successful quest, Worf had altered some of the safety levels and instructed the computer to randomly select the time of their session. Therefore, there were already two Klingon figures seated around the fire. One seemed to be coming out of a trance before the other had even got started. They both became aware of Worf's presence. The warriors stood respectfully.

"Ambassador?" said one.

"Leave us, please," Worf instructed. They obeyed and moved off, but Worf stopped the elder Klingon. "See that no one enters here until we are gone."

The old warrior nodded and disappeared into the dark of the tunnel.

Once they were alone, Worf tended to the fire as Buffy circled the chamber, admiring the statues and avoiding the lava pit. Already she was sweating profusely.

"You may wish to change into a MajQa robe," he told her, pointing to a recess by the mouth of the tunnel as he made his way toward it. "This may take some time," he went on, "and there is still much I have to prepare. I will leave you now."

"Wait," she said. "…What do I do?"

"You must sit before the fire," he explained. "Look into it. Search within the flame. Not for answers, but for the _questions_. The heat from below will do the rest. I wish you success." He began to turn…then, as an after-thought, added: "You must watch for your spirit guides. They may take any form. You must heed them and trust them to lead you onto the correct path." With that said, Worf exited the holodeck.

On her own now, Buffy noted her clothes were already soaked with sweat and she did as he had advised and removed them, donning the heavy brown Klingon robe. She sat and, after an awkward few minutes, finally managed to settle and concentrate on the fire as it danced before her.

Minutes passed that seemed to stretch for hours.

Just as everything barring the flame had emptied from her mind, time itself began to stand still. The heat was so overwhelming, her senses had long become numb to it, and sweat had formed a layer of oily skin over her body.

She began to tire. She struggled to keep her eyes from closing and to concentrate. Slowly, dizzy with heat-stroke, unable to resist, she began to drift into sleep…

Then she realised, and snapped her eyes open.

Everything was fire.

It burned before her, around her, into her, through her.

Flashes of déjà vu crossed her vision, like she was experiencing images from her dream. Images blurred by the fire that still burned. Burning into her mind – erupting like a blazing fountain – illuminating her subconscious self – bringing heat and light to the deepest part of her soul – breathing life into it. Life that it rarely experienced so vividly.

Dream flashes hit her again: being in bed, waking to the sound of her alarm, walking out into an empty corridor, the buzzing of the alarm, waking in bed, leaving her room, walking out into an empty corridor–

And suddenly she was there. Back in that corridor. Only; with no idea which section, or even what deck, she was on. She didn't move. She was aware that the door to her right was fixed open. She was also aware that this was her dream, and feared to cast her eyes into that room. But her Slayer curiosity won over, and she did look.

The door led into crew quarters.

Riley was there with a lifeless heart laid in his hand. "I think this is what you want."

Buffy winced, disgusted, but could not turn away. "I don't want that."

Riley still held out the heart. Angel appeared beside him. "It's okay. I said he could take it. I don't need it anymore."

'_You saw to that_' his voice echoed, though his lips remained still.

Buffy was suddenly aware of Dawn – sitting by the tall curved window – the blonde Demon**-**Bitch with her – plaiting Dawn's hair!

Buffy couldn't seem to move into the room. "Dawn? What are you–?"

"Shhh," Dawn sounded, a finger to her delicate lips. "Big sis is getting me ready for the special party. Why didn't you tell me it was my birthday?"

Buffy's mouth lay open, her mind racing to fight the confusion of the situation. But there was nothing. No words, and no clear thought. It was a dream. She knew it was a dream, possibly a vision. But it occurred to her that whenever she tried to focus on combating Darkness, she was always distracted by this horror-vision of home. So, she fought her instincts instead… and turned away.

She turned her back on Dawn, on Riley, and on Angel, and left them with that woman.

Her feet led her through the Enterprise, every corridor looking the very copy of the one before.

Until…

She found the android officer.

Data, standing patiently in the corridor wearing his uniform; a black jump-suit with grey ribbed shoulders and yellow ochre polo-neck undershirt.

But she didn't feel fear. Or concern.

"Miss Summers, welcome aboard," offered Data.

"I've been here before," she replied.

"I do not believe so," he assured her, holding a hand out to an adjacent corridor. "Your presence is required in the Between Room immediately."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "The between room? I've never heard of it. Where is that?"

"Please; allow me to lead the way." And he did.

Buffy following at his heels. "Are you my guide?"

"Only for a moment. We are uncertain as to whether your synaptic relays are sufficiently prepared for certain sensory input at this time," he reported.

"…You're a lot easier to understand when you're evil."

"I am incapable of 'evil', Miss Summers. Though it has been said that my telling of jokes is 'pure hell'." They came to an intersection and Data steered them right. "You must be quite excited."

Buffy struggled to keep to his pace. "Why?"

"Well…" He paused, as though deciding whether to continue. "No one at your level has ever found their way onto this path."

"Are you really the android?"

"Data? No. Only an interpretation."

They reached a locked door.

"Why 'Data'?" she asked.

His reply was cold. "I'm just here to test your resolve, Dear."

'_I'm?_' Her guard went up. But not soon enough for her. The door opened behind her and Data, dressed now in familiar mining gear, pushed her through with vicious malice.

She fell into dark cloud and passed through it, only to be caught up in a flurry of noise and movement. Cries of fury and pain. Clashing of swords and shields. Stampeding, running, falling and fighting.

The Slayer was swept along once again in some terrible battle – swept along amidst ancient warriors both human and demon locked in combat. She felt herself struck from behind, and fell crashing finally to earth with a bone-jarring crunch. Wild figures danced around her, cutting each other down, biting and hacking furiously.

One monstrous demon came charging at her, a sharp tool held aloft as it came roaring like a banshee. It's blood-stained face a petrified, distorted mass of gore and saliva. The Slayer tried to move her crippled limbs in a futile effort to react as it reached her with its weapon swinging wildly. The blade arced down with one final movement – about to strike her in the chest.

Then she remembered Worf's words to her: '_A Warrior's heart is at its most resolute when confronting death_'. And 'Data's' words: '_I'm just here to test your resolve, Dear_'.

"STOP!" she cried aloud with fiery intensity. "My resolve is just fine!"

All about her fell a great silence and stillness. All but for the howl of a distant wind high above the cloud.

She was joined on a cliff-top by a robed man. Or had she joined him? All she knew for sure was that she was now on an outcrop of land high over the ground. To her left, and a little ahead of her, stood a figure in dark robes leaning heavily on a cracked wooden staff.

Buffy turned her attention to the noise of conflict far below her. Even through the heavy winds that shook the ground at her feet, Buffy found herself speaking softly. More amazingly, every word fell clearly on her wind-lashed ears. "What am I seeing?"

"A war," the man's voice echoed. It was a mighty and dignified voice. He did not turn.

Through the mists that veiled the valley below, Buffy could make out very little detail. "A war between who?"

He drew back his hood to reveal an old face; thin featured with deep lines partly hidden by a full beard; his hair long and black with thick streaks of grey. He did not look her way as he spoke: "Do you know whom lay claim to this earth before your species came to be?"

She thought back to Giles' first teachings. "You mean demons?"

"Yes. Demons. The Wild Ones." His solemn face grew yet more overcast. "There came a time when the Lord began to make way in the world for Man. There were many great battles fought between mankind and the demonkind for the world. None more bloody and terrible as those led by _Darkness_."

Buffy's eyes widened as his words, like the high wind, washed over her. She regarded the deep of the gorge below with a new awareness. Words came to her again, as they had on the zombie-station just a day ago. Words that seemed to almost complete a circle of some fouler meaning within her mind.

"Their souls were lost in the mists of malice," she quoted. That, she realised, was what she was seeing below. History. A history that pre-dated all known history. Hundreds of feet below her, below the mists of the valley, men were losing their lives and their very souls to the army of one they knew only as 'Darkness'.

"He's down there?" she asked, knowing the answer. The old man seemed to know her thoughts, as he did not reply to her question.

She studied the man for a moment and realised something. Back when Giles had read the now infamous passage from his old book, she had had a very clear image in her mind of the sorcerer it spoke of. Eerily clear – almost as though she had seen him before – and, although the man before her now had his face turned away from her, he bore that same familiarity. "Are you here to tell me how you stopped him?"

"I am here to help you to understand him," he said simply.

He was the First Sorcerer!

"I'd sooner know how to stop him."

It was then that the Sorcerer turned to her for the first time and locked her in his piercing gaze.

Buffy wanted to look away from him – from eyes that seemed to see right into her – eyes that seemed to understand her, yet punish her unwillingness to understand him. And, for an instant so short Buffy thought her own eyes were playing strange tricks on her, the First Sorcerer flickered almost from sight. In that flicker, she would swear she saw the face of Willow.

"You came here for answers," he stated, gathering her attention once more. "Whether you are ready for them or no, you have a need for them. It is time they were given to you. Though…you have yet to earn the right to bear this knowledge."

"How can I earn the right to knowledge?"

"It is a right you will be expected to achieve before the end."

"Again, I ask; _how_?"

He gave her a faint smile, and looked out across the gorge. He would say no more on whatever feat she must make to earn the rights he has granted her. But he did speak. And she listened to his words with great anticipation.

"This," he cast his hands over the war below, "began in the heavens when the Lord chose to give life to Men. The High-Angel _Lucifer_ did not hold with God's will to hand the world to a new race of mortals. He led an uprising against the Holy Spirit that tore Heaven in two. For his treachery and lack of faith in his God, he was cast into the pits of Hell with much of the demon race and those of the Angels who had followed his revolt."

Buffy frowned, unable to see the connection to present events.

The Sorcerer saw this in her, and went on: "Long before God sent His son unto the world of Man, Lucifer sent forth his own two sons. …Darkness was one of them. His name … is _Rhamhal_. Rhamhal of the _Pestihl'nhar_."

At first, she did not ask what that meant. It was shocking enough to finally have a true name for the Evil before them. But, after a time, she could not resist. "Pestihl'nhar?"

"Those whom reside in the Dark Place of Pestilence," he explained.

"Pestilence?" she considered. "As in; they spread disease?"

"No. Pestilence as in; pestilential, troublesome, pestiferous. …The Hell Dwellers."

She nodded. That made much more sense. "Rhamhal," she uttered thoughtfully.

"With the dark power of Satan within him, his son was free to wreak whatever terror he wished in the name of Hell."

"You said there were two sons," Buffy noted, afraid there was another as evil as Darkness.

"His first son was born to him during his time in Heaven, when his heart was noble and true. The result of his coupling with a beautiful and magical Angel. The Angel of Earth and Nature. But Darkness was conceived in Hell. The result of Satan's union with a spawn of the Underworld. Creating a being of pure evil. …So strong did his power grow, that he broke free from his physical body to become an Earth-bound spirit."

"You managed to bind him, though? Eventually, I mean."

The Sorcerer's head dropped. "I did bind him. I did not foresee that Man would create a living machine, nor that Man would give human form to an energy as powerful as the Key."

Data and Dawn.

Buffy regarded him for a long while. Something came to mind and she thought again of Satan's other child. "The other son, the one born in Heaven," she asked, remembering the old book described roughly that the Sorcerer was 'A child of Gods that had long since fallen from grace'.

Satan had fallen from grace. "It's you, isn't it? You're the other son?"

He turned to her again, a heavy shadow passed across his aged face.

Yes!

Buffy noted that the men warring below were developed – clothed and armoured, with weapons. She recalled that the First Slayer was not even in possession of language. So she was from long, long before this time. She asked about it: "Where was the current Slayer during all this?"

"Your knowledge of the First Slayer has misled you. She was born in a time far more socially developed than her appearance suggests. The word you would use that best describes the nature of the First in your line would be _Aborigine_."

'_Aborigine?_' Buffy thought. "I don't think I'd actually _use_ that word."

"She was born not of these lands, but into a tribe of simple people who cared little for technological advancements. She was a predator – hunting with her hands – feasting upon her raw prey. A beast to rival beasts. The embodiment of everything I intended the Slayer to be."

Buffy felt her entire body gasp from her heart to her fingertips. "…Everything _you_ intended the Slayer to be?"

Their eyes met again. But, this time there was a warmth within his that she had not seen before.

His voice, even in the strong gale, softened. "As I grew old, it became clear to me that my father had discovered a way to ensure that some demons were able to remain in this world. They were feeding on Man. Some mixing blood with their victims."

"Creating vampires," she added.

"Yes. Though the power of magick was beginning to find its way into the hands of some mortals; Wiccans and the like, it was clear that when my death came, there would be no one remaining to guard mankind. I needed to leave behind a legacy. A new breed that would continue on to protect the world from these vampires and their kin. A warrior protector. Where one would fall, another would rise. …It was with my last breath, and a sense of irony, that I called forth a guardian for the race of Men… in the form of a woman."

"A _girl_," Buffy corrected.

"Yes, well." He seemed to fluster. "It was a difficult spell. And I _was_ dying quite badly at the time."

Buffy found herself stunned. "I can't believe this."

"I do not ask you to," replied the First Sorcerer. "You must trust your own instincts."

Buffy, after a time of deep contemplation, did just that. She trusted what her Slayer-sense told her. "Then it's true. My power _is_ rooted in darkness. In evil."

Oddly, he smiled at her once more. "Not entirely. Do not classify yourself so freely. The power of the Slayers came from _me_. Therefore, it lies in both darkness _and_in light. You see …you are the perfect balance between the two. Only that way can you walk in both worlds. Much of your power comes from darkness, but your will to wield it for the good of mankind comes from a place of light and purity."

Buffy felt heartened by that. This man before her – this spirit of old – was the reason she was what she was. He was the answer to it all. He could answer the question she most wanted to know. "Then… you can tell me the meaning of my existence?"

"That has already been made clear to you. Long before now," he said. "You are the protector. Guardian of mortals. To every generation shall be a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slay–"

"I know what being a _Slayer_ means," She cut in. "…But what about _me_? _Buffy_? What's _my_ purpose? Because I can't believe that my life is just a…a smoke-screen! …A Clark-Kentish flaky-haircut-and-spectacles disguise to cover up what I am!"

His gaze drifted out to the valley again. "Only you can answer that. Some have lived only to be the Slayer. Such as Kendra, who did not find the need for an identity other than that of the Chosen One: simply 'Kendra'. …Then there was Faith. One who could find no meaning in her life. Without purpose, she embraced her calling so much so that it consumed her. …You must determine the meaning to your own existence."

"That doesn't help."

"I know."

Buffy sagged, defeated, yet focused again on the mission. "Why are you telling me all this? So now I know _what_ Darkness is … Still doesn't help us to stop him."

The Sorcerer flickered again, became Willow, before returning to his solid state. She hadn't imagined it the first time!

"Willow? …Why do I keep seeing Willow?"

"You have a powerful witch with you. Her strength has been made known to me."

He knew Willow was a Wicca? "You've spoken to the Wiccan Goddess?"

He gave a faint nod. "There has been a communication."

"Willow can help?"

"If she can open the doors, I will find her."

"Doors?" Buffy huffed in frustration. "What doors? Doors to the afterlife? Why do you have to be so metaphorical?"

"That which is taught can be learned, but only by making your own discoveries will you understand."

"Now you're taking the–"

A terrible, piercingscreamofunthinkable pain rose from the battlefield and slowly faded along with the life of a mortal man. It gave Buffy a shudder and put a chill in her that the winds had so far not achieved.

Some time passed.

The gale rose and fell.

Buffy finally broke its constant drone: "About how I'm supposed to earn this knowledge again?"

The Sorcerer blinked slowly and replied: "In sharing this knowledge with you, we have shown a great faith in your abilities. This faith must prove justified before the end. I hope you are ready to make the necessary sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?"

The world about her began to lose colour and feeling. She was waking. Quickly, she asked: "If you're both his sons, why are _you_ dead?"

He did not look at her. "I died because I chose to live as a mortal. Without making that choice, I would be forever. As will my brother. His spirit can be bound, but to destroy him he would have to willingly take physical form – to live and die a mortal. He will not make that choice."

"Can't we _give_ him form?"

"There is no power on Earth that can make that choice for him." Now he turned his entire body and faced her completely. His eyes had in them the Devil's darkness. "Be ever careful," he warned. "Understand this: His power is an all-consuming, hypnotic force. There is no one who can resist it. …_No one_."

Buffy felt the vision slipping away from her.

She said one last thing before reality tore her away from that place. Defiantly, she dominated the First Sorcerer within her own gaze. "Yes there _is_."

…_Spike_.

* * *

Buffy came around to flame dancing before her.

The holo-cave of No'Mat. She was back. She tried to stand, but her body did not respond.

A shuffle sounded close by.

She was not alone.

Her eyes narrowed. Perhaps she was drugged – paralysed. "Who's there?"

A figure appeared beyond the fire. Crouched on hands and knees. Dark-skinned and dirt-covered. Matted hair and painted face…

"The First Slayer?" she gasped.

The ancient spirit mouthed something to her.

"What?…I can't hear–"

"_Death is your gift._"

…

"…What?" She felt a sudden rush – a pulling sensation – and her eyes opened fast.

Her mind was instantly clear, all weariness and paralysis gone.

The Klingon chamber was quiet and the fire low.

Yet, she was still a tangle of mixed thoughts.

_Death is your gift_

Her mind threatened to explode, until she found a clear idea to focus on, and she leapt to her feet…

"Willow."


	28. Prelude To War : The Brink Of War

**- Prelude To War -**

**--The Brink Of War--**

_**28**_

Xander's neck and shoulder ached, and his trigger-finger had developed a seriously itchy blister. If excessive firing of a phaser rifle hadn't caused it, then it was due to the more demanding task of working the weapons of a shuttle in the battle of Wolf 314…or Austin 3:16…or something.

"Xander! _Xander_!"

As he turned into the corridor that led to his quarters, Anya was by its open door waving her arms about in a headless-chicken-dance of panic. It was then, as he approached at a jog, that he heard the clear electronic alert tone that came bleating from inside.

"What? What is it?" He leapt into the room – on guard – zipping his head this way and that; searching for the danger that undoubtedly (knowing his luck) awaited him there.

Nothing moved. The room was empty of all but the furnishings. Yet that shrill beeping continued ominously.

"What? Where? Wha–?"

Anya pointed. "That stupid little battleships computer-thing just started screeching at me," she groaned.

He looked at her cynically.

"I didn't touch anything, if that's what you're thinking."

Together, they moved toward the small table with the beeping object upon it.

Xander poked it. It looked like a laptop. Or, indeed, computerised Battleships. On further 'analysis', it even folded down like a laptop, but it was fixed to the table. There'd been nothing that looked like it in their room on the Enterprise. Xander flipped it up again. It wasn't lit and there seemed to be no buttons; just shiny black plastic plating.

Anya, face creased in pain at the sound it made, decided to put her fingers to the bottom plate. "Maybe you have to–"

"Anya!"

Too late. The device came to life. Horrific conspiracy theories shot through Xander's mind, followed by the question of just how resourceful Darkness might be with Data's knowledge at hand. There was just one conclusion that he came to…

It was an evil bomb!

"No!" He prepared to leap for cover with Anya when–

Willow's face appeared on its screen.

"S'about time!" came her familiar voice.

Xander saw that the lower plate of the 'bomb' was now lit with a series of touch-sensitive buttons. It was the Rutherford's version of a communicator terminal. Anya had simply switched it on.

"I was starting to think you'd abandoned ship," Willow said.

"Hey, Will!" he replied, more than pleased to see her oh-so-cutie-pie face again. Yet not as enthused as he would normally be. He took a seat by the table. "Jumping ship's not such a bad idea. Considering the alternative."

"Then you know what's coming?" she asked. "War?"

"It's all I've been able to think about. Been running training programs all morning. Even got the blister to show," he said, waving his trigger finger. "A _new_ blister."

"Haven't you seen the doctor over there?" said Will. "They'd blast that blister into the blister nether-realm."

"Yeah…" Xander paused uncertainly. "Don't get me wrong, the doc here's hot; with the blue skin and the little antennae…"

Will puzzled at him.

"But she's a little…" he sought the word, "…intimidating. She's like: '_Sit here. Don't move. Take off your shirt. Open your mouth. Say 'Aah'. Take off your pants_'."

"She made you take off your pants?"

Xander grinned to himself. "Not so much…I kinda just dropped that one in there…more like a fantasy…no. But it happens for real in my dreams," he beamed.

Anya passed by and cracked him one round the head.

"Ow."

"I'm _in_ the _room_," she warned.

"Sorry, Hon." He coughed into his hand: "_Riker_"

"Hey! Look at you!" Willow gasped suddenly. "I knew there was somethin' about you!" She pointed in a frantic fashion. "You're all hairy. …Xander, are you growing a _beard_?"

Xander flushed a little. "It's kind of a half-beard right now."

"It's your step-beard!" Will smiled. "So? Trying to out-beard Riker at his own game?"

"That's the plan," he jibed. "Besides; maybe it'll suit me. Maybe it's just what I need to give me a more mature air. Y'know; make me more growd-up." Anya handed him a clear bowl from the replicator. "Ooh; Spaghetti-Os!" he marvelled, taking a spoonful. "How are things at your end?"

Willow's happy face faded away again to gloom. "Not good. I'm working on new pouches but I don't know if they'll work any better than the last ones that went poof. And the best binding spell I can muster just isn't right for the job. …I don't think I can do it."

"Hey," said Xander, setting the bowl aside. "We're on the Slayer-Team. We always bring home the trophy. When we catch him, we'll be ready. We're always ready. Okay…We're _never_ ready. At least not until the last minute when we pull it back in a pinch. It'll come together," he assured her.

Somehow, though nothing had changed, his words washed her worries almost away. "I miss you," she said dearly. "It isn't the same without the whole gang here."

Xander smiled, but moved on. "Speaking of the Slayer, where _is_ Buffy?"

"Buffy's on a vision-quest in the land of Klingonia," she replied.

"Wow. She must have been bored."

"Actually she seemed keen. Enthusiastic almost. I think she has some personal issues to work out. This might help."

"Nah," Xander retorted with a wave of his hand. "She'll be back any minute complaining about the whole experience: '_Cling-ons are so stupid. Cling-ons are so dull and freakish with their anal features–_'"

Willow's door swished open.

Buffy – drenched in sweat, dishevelled, wrapped only in a brown robe; her clothes held under an arm – came storming in. "Willow!"

"Buffy?" she exclaimed with shock at the sight of her.

Buffy saw the Comm screen. "Xander?"

"Buff?" he also exclaimed with surprise.

There was an odd pause.

"We're on," declared the Slayer.

Will hesitated. "Uh…on what?"

Buffy looked into the screen at Xander. "We'll call you from Giles' room."

With that, his screen went black.

* * *

Within minutes, Willow had patched the Comm through the large viewscreens in Giles' and Xander's quarters and the five Scoobs were almost together again.

Buffy hurriedly outlined what had happened to her: The vision-quest, the Sorcerer, him being the son of Satan and an Angel – the Angel of Nature and Earth – that he and Darkness were brothers… and that Darkness was, in fact, Rhamhal of the Pestihl'nhar.

"Rhamhal of Pestihl'nhar?" Anya mused. "Rmn'pest'ln. I told you so. Rumpelstiltskin."

"Pity you weren't less ambiguous the first time," Giles replied sarcastically.

She wrinkled her nose at him.

Buffy followed by explaining that, without form, Darkness could not be destroyed. He was immortal in the most literal sense. Therefore, They would need to repeat the original binding spell using the Sorcerer… "If Willow opens the doors."

"I see," Giles began to pace around the room. "He suggests we open a doorway to the afterlife in order to channel his spirit through Willow."

"Through _me_?" the young Wicca squeaked, somewhat taken aback. "I'm nowhere near that strong!"

"I believe you are," he countered. "Moreover, the Wiccan Goddess believes it so. She tried to tell you that you were '_Strong to bear the anima'_…the spirit. She knew you could channel the Sorcerer's spirit."

"So," said Buffy, getting things moving, "we open a door?"

"Yes…" Rupert considered. "We shall need to enter the Spirit World. Th-There _is_ an incantation…"

"Do you know it? Without your books?" she asked.

"Well, I-I," he stuttered, mumbling. "It isn't…that is, it's a complicated…not to mention a-a danger–"

She pressed him: "Giles! Do you know it?" They were at such a desperate point. There was no time for being sheepish.

And Giles knew it. He touched the sleeve of his colourful shirt where, below the surface, lay the tattoo. "…I do."

Buffy didn't much care to learn why Giles knew how to access the realm of the dead so readily. It probably went back to his Ripper years. After all; there was a dark side to Giles that they'd only seen a glimpse of when the whole Ethan Rayne/ Mark of Eyghon thing had come out.

Giles looked past his fears and continued: "But the Spirit World is a vast and…well…needless to say; it won't be easy to find this Sorcerer. One might liken it to a needle in a haystack."

"Where the needle looks remarkably like a piece of hay," added Willow.

"The Sorcerer said that he'd find you," Buffy resolved.

"Well, then," said Giles, "in that case…it seems a possible salvation has fallen into our lap."

Willow glanced at Xander, who smiled back and gave a wink. "Just like Xander said it would."

"What about the consequences?" asked Buffy. "Remember what happened when we called on the Spirit of the First Slayer?"

_Death is your gift_

What did it mean? How was she expected to earn the right to this knowledge?

"This is different," Will explained. "The First Sorcerer is helping us willingly. Besides, he sounds like a much more focused entity."

Buffy nodded. "Okay. A plan. What do we need to prepare?"

"Willow should rest," said Giles. "Conserve her strength. Buffy – you and I will need to acquire some supplies."

The Slayer got up, purposeful finally. "Right. Let's go."

The trio made a move, and Giles' room quickly emptied.

* * *

On the viewer, Xander and Anya looked through the screen at the vacant room.

Again, they were left feeling utterly useless. Out of the loop.

Anya left him sat by the viewer. There he waited for the longest time before finally letting it go. He switched off the Comm at his end, stood, and made his way out – grabbing his jacket and slipping it on.

Anya caught him at the door. "Where are you going?"

"Where I'm needed."

Then he was gone.

* * *

Rupert had made a list that was to the best of his memory, had shown it to the captain (while struggling with his own conscience – whether or not to tell Picard the truth about demons being as individual as mortals. As it happened, he couldn't bring himself to speak of it. He still wasn't quite sure if he _had_ done the wrong thing by lying.) and was now on his way, with Buffy, to a room on deck 2.

It was on Picard's instruction that they were heading for this room. Apparently, there they would find the means to gather the supplies required to reach the dead.

Arriving at deck 2, they found a deck much like all the other levels they'd seen – dark, moody, with grey and brown décor and no windows. Following the corridor, they soon reached the intersection where they were meant to turn right. But, as they did, they were met with a security guard who was armed at the hip with one of their laser pistols.

When the Slayer saw him there, blocking their path with a weapon at hand, she became instantly defensive.

The man's hands went up right away. It seemed he had no desire to tackle a girl with her reputation. "It's okay," he said, tapping the hand-phaser. "We're on yellow-alert. Standard procedure."

Buffy relaxed and tried to look casual about her jumpiness.

"I'm Rush," he put to them. "My order from the captain is to grant your every wish." At that, he led them into the room.

"How about galactic peace? Can you do that?" Buffy joked as she passed him going in. "Though I'd settle for Freddy Prince Jr…in a pair of white Speedo's…preferably two sizes too small." When she entered, she discovered an odd room that reminded her of cheesy sci-fi shows from TV. It screamed: 'cheap set'. Simple grey walls and six large and bulky machines against them circling the small room.

Rush led them to one of the devices on the far wall. "Don't poke fun, Miss. I've never known any guest not an ambassador to have such a free license here on the Enterprise."

"We are ambassadors of our cause, Crewman," Giles said, following Buffy in.

"Lieutenant," he remarked, pointing to the pips on his collar. "It's Lieutenant. I'm an officer."

Lt. Rush started the machine up, and it came alive with lit panels and a small screen upon the wall above it. "Captain Picard just thought you might need some help using the replicators here," the man explained.

"Much appreciated," Rupert acknowledged. "We have a list." He handed a PADD over to Rush and watched as he gave it a quick glance.

The man's eyes widened. "…Yes, you _do_."

Slightly embarrassed, Giles added: "I'm assuming you don't have anointed candles." He received a blank look. "As I thought. We shall have to mould them ourselves, and anoint the ingredients as we add them."

Rush's face strained somewhat. "Anoint? You mean, like; give them some kind of holy blessing?"

"Err…" Giles began.

Buffy stepped in. "No," she said. "More like; give them mojo."

"Mojo?"

Giles also blinked. "Mojo?"

"Right. Mojo. Ya know; like...power. It's all about creating an atmosphere of energy. Almost like a beacon from this world to another."

Giles appeared quite dumbfounded by her accuracy.

"'Least, that's how Willow put it," she went on. "I think. I can't be far off. …I think it's a kind of radio. Like; _Demon FM_, or somethin'."

Rupert shook his head. Looking back to Lt. Rush, he asked: "What do you think?"

He gave the list a thorough perusal with a pained and uncertain expression throughout.

It read:

_**Hand-poured candles:**_

_Beeswax (20 lbs, raw, in 1lb blocks)._

_10-inch twine wicks (20)._

_Chopped Violet leaves (20 oz)._

_Orris-root powder (20 oz)._

_Dye from 'murex' marine mollusc 'mollis purpura' (1 ltr)._

_2 boiling pans, (one small, one large)._

_8-inch tall metal cup, 3-inch diameter (2)._

_8-inch deep metal bucket (1)._

Rush looked to them for any sign of humour, before continuing:

_One untreated wooden Talisman, Cocobolo 'dalbergia retusa', in style of Mark of Eyghon (4-inch long, 2-inch wide, 1-inch deep Approx.)._

_One untreated wooden bowl, also Cocobolo (6-inch diameter, 4-inch at deepest point) Containing:_

_Undiluted Venison blood, female._

He frowned hard and again looked up.

Giles indicated for him to continue:

_**INCENSE:**_

_Star anise seeds (4 oz)._

_Althaea leaves (4 oz)._

_Acacia leaves (4 oz)._

_Myrrh resin (4 oz)._

_Sandalwood, fresh (1 living plant)._

_One Charcoal tablet._

_One large Clam-shell._

_Tuscan sand (4 lbs)._

_**Also:**_

_Device to ignite candles._

_One pair of metal tongs._

_3 granite grinding bowls with implements._

_Diet Coke (1 ltr)._

_2 twinkies._

_1 Hershey._

Buffy and Giles waited.

Rush opened his mouth… but closed it again. This happened a number of times before he finally spoke. "Um…some of these things I can do for you now… but the rest… are going to take some programming."

Rupert nodded in understanding. "Then we shall take what we can now, thank you."

Within minutes, the replicator was in full swing. The items that caused problems were mainly the blood of a female Deer, the Talisman, and the specific sand. It would take some time to learn the correct molecular sequences for those requests, and to program the computer.

Eventually, Rush did manage the Talisman, after taking an image of Giles' tattoo and creating a 3D mesh for the replicator to work to. Many more parcels and boxes followed.

A large plasticrete box materialised containing 20 blocks of Beeswax. Buffy lifted it from the replicator and carried it out to the anti-gravity trolley Rush had quickly ordered after reading the list. Giles was there; straightening out the items already sat upon it. He made room and Buffy dropped the Beeswax between the metal bucket and the pans.

She caught Giles staring at her. "What?"

He dropped his gaze and fumbled with his spectacles, cleaning the lenses with his rainbow shirt.

She waited for him to get past his awkward moment.

"How are you holding up?" he asked at last. It seemed to Buffy that he had been trying to ask this for some time.

She sighed. "I'm okay."

"Buffy?"

She sighed deeper. "I'm holding up."

"Is that enough?" he asked her.

"It'll have to be. I'm really alright."

"Something is far from alright, Buffy. You haven't been the same… that is, you've been worse since the visions. I can see it in you."

"Watching me that closely, huh?"

"It _was_ my job once."

"I'm not going to crack, Giles, if that's what you're worried about."

"Of course not. Why would you?"

She hesitated. "What do you mean 'worse since the visions'? Worse than what?"

"You've…been in turmoil since we arrived, Buffy. It's perfectly understandable. …_I'm_ deeply concerned for Dawn. Her safety is at great risk with you here. I can only imagine how terribly _you_worry for her."

Buffy sat herself down on the trolley.

"Has something happened? Did you see something?"

"The visions," she said softly. "They showed me other things. Images."

He was careful not to sound forceful. "Images of what?"

He saw her eyes were moist with welling tears. "Angel in pain…Dawn…with that Demon-Whore."

"They could be nothing more than dream figments."

"No." She glared severely. "She found out Dawn's the Key, I _know_ it." She looked to him with deep, painful pleading. "Giles, if there was ever a time that I needed to be in Sunnydale, it's now. I've no doubt about it – Dawn _needs_ me." Her face dropped. "Yet…here we are."

"If things really are at their worst, as you fear, I'm certain Angel would be there for Dawn in your absence," he assured her.

"That's one of the things I'm afraid of. …I can't help feeling like…like _I'm_ supposed to be there…that _I'm_ the only one that can do … whatever needs to be done to protect Dawn."

"I can't profess to bare the unique insight your Slayer abilities have granted you, but I _can_ tell you that… that all of your fears and worrying may be entirely pointless. We can't know for certain that what you saw and what you feel are reflections of actual events. Events, might I add, that are tied to another reality in another time. I doubt even your prophetic visions can transcend dimensional divides. More to the point; in all your concern for Dawn… have you considered who will protect her from the end of all existence as we know it?"

"Me! Giles?…" She looked at him in disbelief – that he would even ask her that.

He continued despite her: "You're not _here_, Buffy. Darkness grows closer to his goal every moment. Everything is at stake. This world, our world, and every other. I _am_ sorry to be so harsh, but–"

"No. No, you're right." She got up from the floating trolley and paced. "But it's not just the visions. I've been painting by numbers since we got here, Giles. I was on auto-pilot fighting the zombies. …By the time we caught up with the android – Data – I…I let him get the better of me _way_ too easily. I wasn't even _trying_ to be careful. I'm lucky he didn't kill me. He could have." Buffy stopped pacing and sat down again. "Then came the visions, oh joyous mirth." She let out a breath. "Since then I've just been using everything that's happening here as a diversion. Trying to keep myself occupied with Worf, too. Funny, I was actually beginning to learn something. But this isn't a diversion, is it Giles?" It was far too serious a problem for that.

"No," he replied gravely. "No, it isn't." Rupert puzzled. "Worf? He's the Klingon you've been training with?"

"Yeah. …Is that…I mean; you don't mind?"

"Certainly not. I can only teach you so much, Buffy. At the very most all that is humanly possible. If you have an opportunity to learn skills beyond those I can bestow..." He smiled. "Then I think you should go for it while you have the chance."

Her face showed him warmth and appreciation. "Worf thinks that humans are weaker than Klingons because we're afraid of death," she told him.

"What do _you_ think?"

"I don't know." She sighed, and seemed to relax finally. "I always thought it made us stronger; not wanting to die. It makes us do whatever it takes to avoid it. But Klingons aim for it. …They're like…big, brutal, steroid-induced lemmings."

Giles frowned.

"Also noble, and brave, and honourable," she added. "They're _really_ annoying."

"Not at all like you, then?"

She raised one eyebrow.

Rush appeared from within the room, containers stacked under his arms. Puzzlement lay over his face. "Is this… are…are you guys, like, casting a magic-spell or something?"

Buffy got up, suddenly all business. "That's right. The Devil's Black Magic."

"As a matter of fact, " Giles pointed out, "it's more toward purple magic."

Buffy continued to address the officer. "We're opening a portal and summoning the dead," she said, blunt as butter. "Fun, eh?"

Rush dropped the packages on the trolley and quickly walked away, glancing back as he went, disturbed to say the least.

"Was that entirely necessary?"

"No," she said. "But it felt good." She grabbed the hover-cart and set off down the corridor. "We better get started right away. We have a lot to prepare. …This guy…is goin' _down_."

Giles watched her and smiled. His Slayer – focused, ready and as annoying as ever. It was good to see that side of her again. Of course, he would never admit to that.

* * *

In the armoury of the USS Rutherford, Cpt. Freeman was finishing a short motivational speech before sending his troops off to their duties. Freeman watched them leave and, within himself, wished them all the luck in the galaxy.

"Hi." Xander entered with a confident stride. "I'm here to sign-up," he said. "To volunteer…for the Corps. I thought maybe you could use a shuttle gunner or somethin'." He looked around with open arms, as if looking to apply himself to some physical task.

"Actually…those positions have been filled," Dave replied.

"Oh…" He glanced around again. "Well, somethin' then?" he asked in earnest, remembering that Freeman allowed no free rides. "I don't wanna be just a piece of cargo."

"Oh, you won't," Freeman assured him. "It's our hope we'll have the chance to board that Bird to get to Data."

"To capture him?"

"Yes," Dave agreed. "Or the other option," he added, with a sinister tone. "I could use you with a rifle in the main transporter room when the time comes. You'll be part of the raiding party. It'll be hard – close quarters – you'll be a Mobile Infantry Trooper."

Xander nodded. He seemed to accept it with little or no trouble. "What about Anya?"

"I'd like her on the bridge," said the Rutherford's captain. "There's a chance that her specialist knowledge of these creatures may be needed." Freeman noted the younger man's relief. "She'll be safer here."

Dave observed as Xander seemed to drift into himself for a moment, possibly foreseeing how events may unfold when tomorrow comes and all becomes a grim nightmare. Unfortunately, Dave couldn't stick around to help Xander through his troubles. He had an entire crew to care for after all. "Just remember your holo-training. You're a natural, soldier." He put a strong hand on Harris' shoulders. "Keep a phaser rifle at your side and be ready for the call." He gave a final nod and embarked on a last tour of his ship, stopping on his way to instruct a security officer – "See that our colleague here's issued with a type 3." – before disappearing out the door.

* * *

On the floor of his quarters, Giles laid out the wax and wicks, the leaves, powder and purple dye. He then placed the smaller pan into the centre of the larger pan on his coffee table.

"Hot water; one-hundred and seventy degrees," Buffy ordered, and watched as an odd flask materialised on Giles' private replicator. She returned with it to the low table and, as instructed, poured the hot water into the larger pan until it almost reached the rim of the smaller pan inside.

Finally, Giles placed a single block of wax into that small pan to melt. "Now we wait."

"How many candles are we making anyways?" asked Buffy.

"Thirteen," he said.

She smirked. "Thirteen? …C'mon…are we _that_ cliché?"

"Thirteen happens to be a very significant number – with deep ritualistic connotations."

There came a silent beat.

"Darn-tootin'," Willow chirped from the window ledge where she sat grinding.

"Oookay," muttered Buffy as she followed Giles over to check on Willow's progress.

The young witch held a granite bowl of finely crushed violet leaves and orris-root powder. "All done," she said with a smile.

"Now we must anoint the ingredients," said Giles.

Willow's personal scepticism found voice: "Shouldn't that be done by, like, a shaman…or a coven?"

"As a witch, your word will be as binding as any coven," he assured.

Willow eyed the bowl. "I don't remember any anointing spells."

Rupert took the bowl in his hand. "Simply focus on the ingredients and say…something like: 'In the name of the Wiccan creed, and by natures hand, bless this…token of offering…with…the power given unto me by…the high Goddess…of my craft.' …It really isn't important, so long as you give it your Wiccan blessing."

She nodded. "I bless you," she put simply, with a wave of her hand.

"I was expecting something a little more involved," he said.

So, she waved her hand over the bowl again and went on: "In the name of the Goddess, the sun, the moon and the stars. In the name of the Earth and the living trees that set root in her soil as her skin. And the rivers and oceans that flow as her life's blood… May this power that I bestow herein… aid us all in seriously kicking some evil ass." She wiggled her fingers at the bowl. "Okay."

"One blessed salad," Buffy announced. "What now?"

Giles handed her the newly anointed bowl of powder and leaves. "Now we prepare our first candle," he replied, returning to his pans and stirring the softened wax.

The Slayer regarded the contents of the bowl. "Um…waiter? …I believe I ordered the _Caesar_."

The girls snickered.

When melted, they added a measure of the anointed goods and a measure of purple dye to the wax and stirred. Buffy filled the metal bucket halfway with cold water from the replicator, at 5 degrees, as Giles removed the inner pan and poured its contents into the tall moulding cup. The wax began to harden right away, and Giles created a thin hole in the centre of the forming candle. In this, he added a wick. This cup was then placed in the cold water bucket until the wax hardened fully. Once the candle was knocked free, it was finished.

Willow helped them to repeat this process 12 more times, as she could not yet prepare the incense. They were still waiting for the Deer blood and the sand. In addition, they were expecting the science lab to deliver 2 completely sealed yet hollow containers – non bio-degradable. It was hoped that they would be a suitable new home for the Spirit and Mastery of the evil one.

It was early afternoon by Earth time when the candles were fully prepared, and time to rest before tomorrow's war. Technically it was that very evening, after a brief nap, when they would reach their cornered enemy, yet out there in space it was difficult to tell day from night and where one day ended and the next began.

The three Scoobs reluctantly left their preparations at a standstill. The rest period was a captain's order. He wanted a fully lucid team at crunch-time. As for the Scoobs, they at least had a chance to bind Darkness using the Sorcerer's original spell. It wouldn't kill him, but it would end the present threat. Hopefully more permanently than the last time.

The remaining supplies arrived as the girls were leaving for their own rooms. They planned to continue as soon as they'd had their much needed few hours sleep. They said their good afternoon's and headed for bed.

* * *

Geordi La forge, Chief Engineer of the Enterprise, stepped off the ladders and rounded the warp core. He halted where Wells knelt with his head in an open panel. "Reinforcing the EPS taps? …Good work. Just watch your infusion rate – nothing above a point-one flow. You're doin' a great job." He continued on his way, pointing back up to the 2nd level. "Benson! Be careful of the flux levels. Let's try to avoid burning out the isolinear matrix." Then he stopped, seeing an open panel amass with cable ends and without a busy crewman. "What's happening _here_?"

Wells popped out of his hole. "Lorrez' started adding those optical hardlines to the ODN trunks."

"Lorrez?" La Forge scanned the deck. "Where the hell _is_ Lorrez?"

"Up here, sir," came a voice from the upper level. A stocky crewman appeared at the railing wearing a technician's coveralls.

"What are you playing at up there?"

"I'm just restarting the subprocessor while the maintenance port is free," replied Lorrez, with an unusual accent.

"Did you finish backing up the ODN lines?"

"Not yet, Commander, but–"

"Not yet? You aiming to blow out the supports when you bring that processor online? …Didn't think so. Now get your butt down here."

"Sir."

Geordi reached the system display table where more of his people worked on warp core defences. "How're we doin' with that forcefield?"

"No improvement on previous levels," he was told.

"Dammit. We just don't have enough juice left. We'll have to put it on hold 'til Commander Riker clears all the non-essential decks. Soon as he does, we'll re-route that power and pile it into the core's defences. It's _vital_ the core holds."

His team nodded, and left him alone at the table. He was stressed and tired, and he felt there was so much more he wanted to achieve before duty called. He was mulling over his thoughts when the young red-headed member of the Spooky Group made her presence known.

"Bad time?" Willow asked when he looked to her with his tired mechanical eyes.

"…No. Well…actually yes. But it's okay. There a problem?"

"No. Not really. Apart from the loom of imminent danger," she said, trying to be light-hearted.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked.

"There's just too much tension in the air."

"You know…you really shouldn't be here," said La Forge.

"I know… just thought… maybe I could help out…" She ambled up to a small wall display and perused over the readouts. "At least 'til I'm tired enough to sleep."

Geordi actually felt himself laugh inside, and couldn't help but smile a little. "Uh…I don't really think there's anything you could–"

"I notice you're building a second network between the ships' workstations and operating systems," Willow observed quite casually.

The engineer faltered. "Um… yeah." He knew she couldn't possibly understand what they were doing, but he explained anyway with a sceptical expression: "We already have multiple back-ups. But they all run off of the same subprocessors. So, if they're damaged or we lose all power…" he trailed off. "That's why we're trying out another optical network; running off an independent generator the science labs are throwing together."

"Sounds pretty experimental," she replied without a sign of confusion.

"That, and not exactly recommended," Geordi said, a little confused himself.

"Cool." She studied the wall display again, then said: "Pity it's all cross-wired."

"What?" Geordi erupted, the insult blazing across his face, before he regained his composure. "It's not cross-wired."

"Okay," she agreed, in a clearly disagreeable way.

"It's not cross-wired."

"I'm sure you're right," she said softly.

Now he was irritated, and feeling the onset of an insecure uncertainty. "I can guarantee you that it is _not_ cross-wired," he assured…himself. Using the systems display table, he viewed all the internal connections of the hardlines and optical data network cables. He ran a quick diagnostic that confirmed his statement.

At that, Willow played her hand over the screen controls a little awkwardly, but managed eventually to find the desired buttons. The screen changed to show a completed section of the overall network. At the centre seemed to be a junction box of sorts from which a spaghetti car-crash of cables branched off.

"Residual electrical transference," she stated.

Geordi then smiled. He understood what she was thinking. She believed that, because both the old and new cable loops ran through this same junction, that they were no longer separate. She was wrong. "See this casing?" he asked, pointing to the junction box itself. "That material is built to absorb and diffuse any and all residual energy. The back-up loop is completely independent to the ODN lines. Trust me. It's not possible for there to be any energy transference. All the simulations support this."

"I'll bet your simulations didn't take into account the stress levels on your junction if the ODN line blows – I mean – overloads under an attack."

"It's designed to handle stress."

"It's also designed to spread that stress out over its surface. That's a lot of megawattage. But it's not designed to isolate your back-up lines."

La Forge considered her now with less scepticism and more surprise. He didn't try to argue. "Computer, run a simulation series on our current ODN and hardline terminal networks."

"Working," the female computer-voice replied.

"What would be the effect on the back-up system should the primary ODN lines be overloaded?"

"There would be no effect on the secondary hardline should the primary ODN lines be overloaded."

He shrugged at her. "See." She was clearly out of her depth and he couldn't understand why she'd want to trouble him like this.

"Computer," Willow persisted, "what effect would there be on the ODN _junction points_ if the primary lines are overloaded?"

"The ODN junction points would experience an increase in energy absorption."

"How great an increase?" she asked.

"Increase levels would depend on the severity of the overload."

"Give me a range, Computer."

"Twelve to fifteen megawatts of energy may be absorbed at the ODN junction points in the event of an overload."

La Forge didn't look impressed. "That's hardly surprising," he argued. "Those junctions can handle well over a twenty megawatt charge. Non of that energy will reach the back-up cables. The two circuits are separate. There's no cross-wire here. Look, I've been a chief engineer for nearly twelve years… and I'm trying real hard not to be impolite, but–"

"How much energy would have to reach those new back-up cable ports to create a circuit?" she pushed.

La Forge sighed impatiently. "As little as three milliwatts could do it. But, as I keep telling you, it's not gonna happen."

"Computer, in the event of an overload to the ODN lines, should twelve to fifteen megawatts of energy be absorbed at the junction points… how much energy would reach the ports of the back-up lines?"

"Point-eight-five to two milliwatts."

"You said anything over that would create a circuit between the two cables?"

"Anything at three or above."

"Computer, how much energy would be present in the cable port simply by having a hardline connection present?"

"Point-six milliwatts."

"That's close," she observed.

The chief had to admit that it was closer than he'd realised, but still at a safe level of 2.6 milliwatts maximum. Well below 3 milliwatts. "I really do need to get back to work," La Forge pointed out, hoping the girl would leave. She was soft spoken and somewhat timid, that was true, but she was beginning to give him more stress than securing the warp core.

"Now, Computer," Willow said, as La Forge rolled his eyes, "if that junction port has a two-point-six milliwatt charge at the time of an overload, and is receiving an average demand from computer terminals in tactical and flight control departments under battle conditions… what would be the effect?"

"The junction port would experience a micro-feedback loop causing a point-five increase in energy levels," the computer responded.

"A point five increase? That would bring the wattage up to…"

"Over the limit," La forge uttered in sheer disbelief.

"Resulting in?"

"The creation of a circuit," he continued.

"Meaning?"

He began to feel like a first year cadet. "If a subprocessor blows, it'll take our back-up with it." His hands went up to his head. "I don't believe it."

"You'll have to put in, like, a fuse…or a circuit breaker or somethin'," Willow advised with much less technical clarity.

Geordi stood speechless. He simply could not, in any way, believe he'd been caught with his proverbial trousers about his ankles. Especially by someone so young. And _especially_ by someone who, less than 76 hours ago, had never seen a starship nor heard of a warp drive let alone an optical data network. It was like young Wesley Crusher all over again.

His shock was suddenly replaced by suspicion.

He found words again: "You didn't just spot that did you? You _knew_ there was a problem."

Willow blushed a little and gave a shrug, admitting to him that she'd spent much of her time over the past day searching for a problem she could help solve.

"Now why would you go to all that trouble?" said Geordi.

She reached into her fur-lined coat – a copy of the one she'd had back home – and presented him with a small crystal. She referred to the small clear rock as labradonite, mentioning a pouch of some sort, and asked if he could spare the time to help her alter it's structure.

The chief didn't have to think twice. He wouldn't have spotted the cross-wire in his system until the final battle simulation was run. And that would be almost certainly too late to make it right. "Seeing as you saved me at least an hour of work," he said, playing it down somewhat, "not to mention embarrassment…Sure, let's take a look."

With the help of La Forge, and a new and unusual gadget, they managed to focus the refraction of the crystal.

The labradonite itself was used in her pouches to reflect demon energies. By enhancing the amount and intensity of the light it reflected she hoped to repel the demon force of Evil more than the last time back on Traders' World. It was an effort to solve a supernatural problem with a scientific solution.

They were just finishing up when Willow finally broke a subject she was desperate to talk about. "Data…he gave us a tour of the ship when we first arrived," she said.

Geordi tensed a little. There was pain behind his blue optical implants.

"Data said you were his best friend," Willow recalled. "Before he turned evil and all."

His eyes dropped and he let out a remorseful sound. "Don't feel like much of a friend right now."

She let him take a second.

"Y'know," Geordi said, "Data's done this kind of thing before. Tried to kill us. Sometimes without even realising it. But it's never been his fault. There's always someone else pulling the strings. He's not the one responsible for this."

"You're right, he isn't. But we think we know who is." She gave him a brief explanation, which he found difficult to accept.

"Giles is gonna hand-in his report to the captain first thing," she added.

La Forge groaned. "It all sounds so far-fetched. I mean…ghosts, monsters, and now the gods? It's not exactly the kind of reasoning I'm used to dealing with."

"It's the kind of thing I deal with every day," she pointed out. "Besides, it's Captain Picard who'll have to decide what to do with the information."

"Yeah," he considered, "well I don't envy him." He looked around at the technology that he knew so well, and thought of all the hocus-pocus he'd witnessed in the last 4 days. "This…whole situation forces a person to completely re-evaluate their thinking."

"Yeps," she agreed. "I remember when I saw my first vampire. _That_ was a crash-course in thought re-evaluation alright." Will spotted a PADD lying face-up on the display table. On it was a familiar image.

"Captain Picard's asked for a fail-safe version of the immobiliser Counsellor Troi used on Data," Geordi explained, raising the PADD and examining it. "But…whatever I come up with to shut him down… that _thing_… It'll just be able to restart him again like last time. …If I can just break its hold on him… give Data a chance to fight back. As I understand it, Data'd have to _die_ to be released from…whatever-the-hell it is inside him."

"What would Data want you to do? Considering what can happen if you do nothing?" she asked him.

"And if it was you? If you had to kill one of your friends to save everyone else?"

"I…I'd find another way," she acknowledged.

"If there _was_ no other way?" he pushed.

"I'd _find_ another way."

"And that's what _I_ have to do. I need to find another way to get it out of him. Somehow… If only we could offer it a…a better alternative. Somehow convince it that Data is the wrong host." La Forge strained. "I can't think of any other way than to kill him."

Willow dropped her eyes then with sadness. She hadn't known Data long at all, yet she'd seen the purity of his soul right from the first moment she met him. Now they were considering killing him.

'_Kill him?_' she thought with an inward frown. '_A machine?_'

Was it really 'Killing' him? He was, after all, a computer in a humanoid shell. She shook her head, surprised at herself for thinking such a thing. But something dawned on her then: '_He's a computer!_' Then she realised. "A virus!"

La forge puzzled at her. "What?"

"I've got it! A self-defeating virus!" She began to flap and move around frantically. "One that corrupts all Data's programming and function – memory, personality – destroying everything that gives him life – his _soul_ – forcing the Evil out."

Geordi caught on right then. "Before fulfilling its design by repairing and uncorrupting his systems… bringing him back online." He finally saw a light of hope. It didn't last. "Uh, but it's not a hundred percent safe. To keep the entity away from him, he'd have to be corrupted for a length of time. He might be out too long to bring him back."

"It's safer than killing him dead," she pointed out.

"If there's any permanent damage…I don't know that I can repair it."

"It's _Data_," Willow stressed. "You can do it. You can do it because you have to."

He allowed a ray of hope to return. "Alright…say we pull this off and Data _is_ 'exorcised'…what about everyone else around him? Won't it just take a leap into the nearest person?"

"I got that covered," she said hopefully, trying to sound confident. She didn't want to rock his boat now. "That's what this is for." She raised the crystal again.

He didn't understand how that was possible, yet he allowed himself to trust her. "Okay," he accepted. "I need to get to work on this virus right away."

Will nodded and stepped to the exit. "I should go. I'm supposed to rest."

La Forge had no such luxury. "Good luck with your crystal."

She smiled. "You too." On her way she paused. "If you need a hand…"

"Thanks." He chuckled, which surprised him in that moment. Some of that earlier embarrassment also returned. "We're good here," he said. "Well, we are _now_. …Thanks." He watched her leave the department and the thought struck him that he'd just been in the presence of a potentially exceptional Starfleet officer.

* * *

Much of the crew on both vessels were now taking sleep – many with the aid of a very short-term hypospray injection to defeat the tension keeping them awake.

* * *

Picard himself – the man who gave the rest order – with barely an hour of struggled sleep, had dressed and returned to the bridge with a pressing urge. Stepping off the turbolift, he moved directly to the pilot at Conn. "Ensign." He paused to consider his decision.

Their current speed was warp 2. They were 0.1 light years behind Data. He would arrive at the Klingon's location about 6 hours ahead of the Enterprise.

Picard was meant to await the signal from the gHin TAQ before increasing his speed. But that would mean the Klingon ship would be in the line of fire for over an hour before they were able to come to their aid. In war terms – an eternity.

By engaging warp 9 now, however, they could arrive at the Epsilon Ursae system just minutes after the enemy fleet.

The decision was his to make.

Finally, he chose to disregard the arrangement they had with the Klingon ship. "Ensign – increase to warp nine." He'd be damned if he was going to leave the Klingons to face them alone for so long.

He took his chair, eyes still hung over from sleep. "Mr. Warner," he said to tactical. "Please ask the Rutherford to match our speed. In fact – open a secure Comm to Captain Freeman." Picard got up. "In my readyroom."

"Aye, Captain," Warner acknowledged before completing both tasks.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard had just decided to alter their full-on-assault approach to this conflict.

"But…what if he's asleep, sir?" Warner worried.

Picard bore a wide smile and mused over it a moment, knowing what it felt like being in Freeman's position. "He is the captain of his ship, Lieutenant Warren, he'll be awake alright." He entered his side-room. "And, if he isn't, …wake him."

* * *

Within 3 hours, everyone was awake and busy again. The Starfleets' were further readying their ships for combat while the Scoobs were doing what _they_ needed to do to prepare for the end-game.

* * *

A set of orange doors parted to reveal Buffy standing alone in the corridor.

"Spike," she said.

"What do _you_ want?" came his reply from inside his room.

"Right to the point, then? …We could use your help."

"Ha!"

She hesitated. "Can I come in?"

"_I'm_ the vampire here. Do as you please. …That's usually the way it works with you."

She entered just far enough for the doors to close.

"Well?" he asked. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"

Defiant of his attitude, she did what she had come to do: "If we have to board that ship, we'll need all the good fighters we can get. If our spell fails, _you_ could be the only one who can stop this. He can't possess you. You're immune to his power."

"_Immune_!" he spat. "I'm _not_ immune! Do you have any idea how hard it is to resist? How much it hurts?" Spike roared. "Besides; I'm _evil_. I'm a demon – one of _them_. This isn't my fight."

"You don't want the world to end any more than I do! I remember you asking for my help once to save the world."

"That was different."

"How?"

"Look," said Spike, more diplomatically, "I'm not like you. We're completely the opposite of each other, Buffy. Cowboys and soddin' Indians. We were never meant to work together." '_Never meant to BE together_' "I'm not on your team. We're not the same."

"We're more alike than you realise," she admitted, before adding an after-thought: "As nauseating as that idea is."

Again, he huffed at her. "I'd like to hear you justify that crap. You're all 'sent from above to kill demons'. I'm part of the darkness – part of the problem… 'Least in your eyes."

She stepped in closer now. "I know that it's down to the chip but, as things stand, you're practically a Slayer yourself."

Spike laughed out.

She explained: "_My_ power is rooted in darkness; just like yours. Neither of us is 'normal'. It's only because I've made a choice to fight for good that separates me from evil." She now stood right before him. "Am _I_ evil because I have it in me to be?" Buffy asked. "You have to make a choice, Spike. Whose side are you on? Are you part of the problem? …Or part of the solution?" She waited but he gave no reply. "I need you on this."

Spike tensed suddenly. His eyes seemed to see beyond her. "You…_need_ me?"

"Need? Did I say need? …Need's probably too expressive a word…_Want_."

"You _want_ me?" he returned with a coy smirk.

"_We_!" She flustered. "_We_ want you. We want you on this." …'_Breathe…gather yourself before this gets any more disturbing_' …"We need you in on this, Spike. You're the last line of defence." Buffy waited for a reply, studying him as she did through cautious eyes; feeling uncomfortable all at once with how close they were stood from each other.

She watched him, and he appeared to study her right back.

Buffy's main concern was whether or not she'd got her point across in all her word-fumblage. She figured not. But, what worried her was how Spike had almost… flirted.

She was suddenly aware that Spike was now standing right over her. Fear struck her. But not the scary-monster-in-the-dark kind of fear… Not the scary-confrontation kind of fear… Not even the what's-he-gonna-do-? kind of fear.

She feared she _knew_ what he was going to do.

What if he _had_ taken all her meanings the wrong way?

What if he…

What if…

Then it happened.

For a frightful second, it seemed like he might actually lean in to…to _kiss_ her.

Buffy didn't give him chance – suddenly slamming her palms into his chest to halt him.

The reason behind Spike's lurking about outside Buffy's home began to dawn on her. For the first time, she gave serious thought to the fact that he might actually have a 'thing' for her. And it made her sick. But the surprise at his attempted kiss left her so stunned, she found herself unable to respond in any way other than to blast him with her most stern look.

She couldn't help but blame herself for mincing her words, which probably led him to the wrong conclusion. So, she simply stopped him.

Spike, on his part, noted with a slightly playful smile that her hands were cupping his pecs.

She quickly pulled them away. Trying desperately to focus on the matter at hand until she could gather her composure, she said: "Can we count on you?"

Spike, more than confused and not sure whether to feel embarrassed, couldn't be sure if the Slayer was just playing coy or if she was rejecting him. Or even if he'd only imagined the attempt. "You…can count on me, Buffy. I'll be there when you need me." He realised that had sounded a little bit too personal. "After all…Happy Meals, right?"

"You can't feed anymore."

"Still, there's always hope."

With nothing more to say, she turned to go, somewhat disturbed. "And Spike…" She glanced back at him, and it wasn't a playful look. "Don't ever try that again."

'_Is she teasing?_' he wondered. "Or what? Let me guess… you'll kill me? Beat me 'till I beg for mercy?" He was grinning now.

"No." She could think of something far worse … "I'll ignore you." She left, determined to banish the memory of his attempted kiss forever.

Spike's smile faded as the doors came together, replaced instead by the most fearful worry.

* * *

The last of the supplies arrived to Giles' relief. He set the two hollow containers on the coffee table and immediately filled the wooden bowl with the Deer blood. Into this, he placed the talisman; shaped as it was like the Mark of Eyghon that for years had branded his arm – an upward pointing arrow bearing a tail, wrapped by 2 serpentine shapes.

He left the dark wooden talisman to soak for a couple of hours in the blood as required, then set out the three granite pots and their grinding implements. He and Willow were hard at work powdering the seeds, leaves and sandalwood needed for the incense when Buffy arrived, late as usual. Rupert handed her a bowl and asked what had kept her.

"I talked to Spike again," said Buffy, mashing into the contents of her bowl with the grinding stone.

"And?" Will begged.

"He…agreed to help us."

"To what benefit, I wonder?" Giles remarked cynically.

"He doesn't want the world to end."

"Yes…and I'm sure his reasons are pure. Not at all selfish or macabre," he commented. "He's probably only doing it so he can survive long enough to find a pack of cigarettes."

Buffy scowled a little. "I don't honestly care what his reasons are. It's not as if he's a mindless evil thing. …Spike's bad. He'll always be bad. But there's bad, and there's _evil_." She pummelled the contents of her dish. "We can't exactly condemn him when he's capable of good, Giles."

She was right. Even if it was just the chip and being around the Scoobs that had changed him, he was still changed. Who could now say which side of the fence he was on? Again, he was reminded that demons weren't necessarily purely evil. And that not all demons were alike. Moreover, the guilt he felt having lied about this to Captain Picard resurfaced and grew more intense. Could he, in all good faith, keep the truth from Picard any longer? … He was beginning to wonder.

* * *

Jean-Luc Picard began his final tour, complimenting his crew as he went, offering support where needed, and advice where due. Overall, each department renewed his confidence tenfold. At last, he ended on deck 5 outside the guest quarters of Rupert Giles. He rang the chime, received an invitation, and entered to find Rupert with his 2 female companions – each sat mixing some sweet-smelling concoction in what appeared to be an old pestle and mortar.

Giles welcomed him and made him numerous offers – a chair, a drink, late lunch.

Picard declined with a raised hand. In it, he held a small computer PADD just like the one Giles had typed his latest report on. It had included all their new knowledge on the evil entity – Rhamhal – and on their hoped method of defeating him. Well, almost all their new knowledge.

"I have studied your report, Mr. Giles," Picard said, tapping the PADD. "As a rule, it is my duty to know and understand every action that takes place onboard my ship."

"Of course," said Giles.

"Though, I find the concept of the… 'spell' you intend to perform… rather beyond the boundaries of my understanding."

Giles visibly deflated. "Is this the captain's way of politely stopping our efforts?"

"Not at all. If you can explain to me, in terms I can relate to, exactly how you will achieve the solution in this report. And if you can assure me that no harm will come of my ship and crew as a result."

First, Buffy blurted out something of a disjointed explanation, which Giles was quick to terminate. After his own fumbling, Willow was the one to break it down to its almost-scientific fundamentals:

"Think of it as asking beings that are on a different plain of existence for help," she explained. "To us they're Gods. You might call them 'entities'. By offering them some kind of payment or service, we can ask these entities to bestow us any wish that is within their power to grant. By doing this, we can open a door to a reality parallel to your own – one which contains a completely different universe. In this 'dimension' is the consciousness of a lifeform who once bound and defeated the enemy long ago. He alone can help us to repeat the actions that were successful back then."

Picard considered it. "How can you access such a place while you are so far from your own reality?"

"These other dimensions don't exist _in_ our world," she replied. "They exist _along-side_ it. For some, as with the one we're contacting, time holds no meaning."

Giles gave her a grateful pat on the shoulder. "As for guarantees of safety, Captain, there can be none. Like your war, the success of our efforts will be a result of how well we handle the task."

So, Picard gave his blessing. "I'm not sure I understand fully, …but I am sure that you do. I assume you will be remaining here during the conflict?"

They agreed.

"Then I will move all guests to this level and this deck will remain operational. I should warn you not to attempt to access any of the decks that will be without power for the duration of the conflict. I will have a report sent to you in regards to this. If your assistance is required I will call on you."

Rupert was on the verge of admitting to Picard his lie, yet he couldn't speak of it. Not with the girls around. He felt guilty enough without them hearing of it from his own mouth. He cursed himself. The truth was far more important than his own ego. He opened his mouth to speak – but Picard interrupted to inform him of a final mission briefing taking place in one hour in the observation lounge, and Giles was invited.

Picard made his way out. "If there is anything more I can offer; any other needs you have?"

"Only time," Giles uttered. "Time, space, and freedom, Captain. And not to be disturbed if possible."

"Very well. I'll try to keep the inertial dampers operational," he said with what passed, in his eyes, as humour.

* * *

The final briefing was held early that evening on the Enterprise. Their distance from the target destination was estimated at 0.144 light-years. At their current speed, they would arrive within the hour.

For this last meeting, only key personnel were present. Picard, as captain, was seated at the head of the conference room's glowing table. To his right; Will Riker and Rupert Giles. To his left; Cpt. Dave Freeman and his joint-executives – Cmdr. Coren Vaun and Cmdr. Saskia Romani.

Ambassador Worf stood beside the room's large monitor. "The Epsilon Ursae system," he stated, indicating the computer-generated image upon the screen. "This star system consists of eight planets orbiting a class-F star. Five of the planets are within the geo-range, and three are of a gaseous nature. It must be noted that the sixth planet is M-class, and home to a pre-developed race of humanoids. As well as a number of aquatic, and ornithological lifeforms."

"Will you be taking measures to avoid this world?" asked Rupert.

"Without question," Picard responded.

Worf then proceeded: "It is the intention of the gHin TAQ to manoeuvre the enemy fleet into a position between the fourth and fifth planets prior to engagement."

"Then there's the question of locating that cloaked Bird of Prey," Riker noted. "There's no telling what kind of improvement's have been made using Data's skills."

"Yes, Number One." Picard offered Vaun the floor. "Commander Vaun, would you care to make your report?"

"Certainly," said the shaven-headed Trill officer, and former tactical specialist, before moving to join Worf by the monitor. Vaun brought up an image featuring, to Giles' eyes, a series of wavy lines and odd measurements. "These readings were taken by the shuttlecraft Hannigan during an encounter with the Bird of Prey within the Territory. It shows a detectable irregularity with its engine emissions – causing the venting of exhaust gases. With any luck, it may still prove to be their Achilles' heel."

"It may now be operating with a functioning tachyon diffuser," Worf reported. "This could also cause any residual anti-protons to be dispersed."

Freeman huffed. "So they're potentially undetectable?"

"We must assume so," said the Klingon. The ambassador went on to explain his advanced firing program to Vaun. It was designed to bring down the Bird whenever a brief weapons lock could be established. With a single button, an entire spread of torpedoes will fire. As they travel to their target, phasers automatically rapid-fire those co-ordinates to weaken the target before the torpedo impact.

Captain Picard, with some anxiety, reported to the group that Giles' team was actively proceeding with a plan that held the chance of removing the entity from Data's body. When Vaun asked for details, Giles was left with a rather awkward exposition.

He tried to explain to them their plan to contact the being who first trapped the enemy (leaving out the substantial part about him being somewhat dead). His greatest difficulty came in trying to describe _how_ this would be achieved. He relied heavily on Willow's earlier words. Needless to say, there were more frowns after his explanation than before.

Once Picard and Freeman had done a quick run-through of military tactics they hoped to use, the assembly was relieved to duty.

As Giles departed, only Cpt. Picard and Cmdr. Riker were behind him.

Riker halted in the doorway.

"Will?"

"I had an interesting visit from Lieutenant Rush this morning. He came to _warn_ me. He's under the impression that our 'guests' are plotting to open the gates of hell and unleash the devil upon us all."

"Aah."

"Captain? Should we be allowing them to… do whatever it is they plan to do? How can we know they aren't endangering us further?"

"I understand your concerns, Will. I do. Believe me, I share them. What they propose to do is beyond belief. However… what is unbelievable to us may be perfectly acceptable to them. Perhaps even mundane. With that in mind, I feel it only reasonable to allow them to pursue their own methods as we pursue ours."

"Of course, sir." Out the corner of his eye, Riker noticed Mr. Giles returning to the observation lounge. He seemed to approach them along the corridor rather uneasily.

"Do you have a moment, Captain?" asked the Englishman, with a slight quiver.

"I can spare only a brief moment, Mr. Giles. I must take my place on the bridge," Picard responded.

"That is all I ask. Is not brevity, after all, the soul of wit?"

Picard hinted a smile and allowed him to speak. But Rupert hesitated in Riker's presence.

Will noticed the uneasiness and gave a glance to his commander.

Picard returned a nod. "See that Deanna visits Mr. Rush before we arrive, Number One." The crew had enough to fear already without fearing danger from within the ship.

With that, Riker moved onto the bridge.

"I shan't keep you, Captain," Giles said, declining Picard's offer to take a seat within the conference room. "As I said; I will be brief." He steadied his breath. The captain's reaction would be anything from surprise to anger as far as he could guess. At worst, he feared he would lose the man's respect. "I…am guilty of a lie, Captain," he admitted. "And I offer no excuses for my actions."

Picard thought back to his prior encounters with Giles, and studied his face, before asking: "A lie in what regard?"

"In regards to demons…and to their nature."

"I see." Picard grew cynical, yet intrigued. "I would care to hear your reasons."

"They're little more than poor excuses now, Captain Picard."

"Still, I would like the opportunity to make that judgement myself."

Rupert did sit down.

Picard joined him at the table.

"Spike has agreed to help us fight," he said. "He was offered a choice. And he chose to battle against the evil threat."

Picard understood. "And, if just one of his kind is able to work toward a peace, then all may have the capacity within themselves."

"I wouldn't go as far as to say that. …But there _are_ demons – certain breeds – who's nature is harmless and non-threatening. And it _is_ possible that some of them are out there now – forced to do the will of the enemy."

"Their minds controlled?"

Giles nodded.

"This…certainly changes things," Picard mused.

Giles said no more until Picard had dwelt enough on the thought, and put a hand on Rupert's sleeve. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I believe I understand your motives in keeping this from me. …I cannot guarantee that we, as a people, can be prepared to assimilate this race into our society. Nevertheless, we must have the opportunity to try. And _they_ must be given the opportunity to make a choice." Picard stood. "Return to your quarters," he said, though not in a commanding way. "Begin your… your spell. …And good luck."

"To you also."

* * *

Cmdr. Saskia Romani was making her way back to the Enterprise' transporter room with her captain when Freeman asked that she be the one to pilot the Narayan shuttle, as he'd be at her weapons console. "I want the best shuttle pilot the Rutherford's got," he said to her.

"Wait a second, Dave. You're always telling me I should take my responsibilities more seriously. Isn't your responsibility to the Rutherford? To sitting in her command chair?"

"Remember when I told you that sometimes a captain wants to say 'to hell with the rules'?"

"Because some say they're made to be broken?"

"Right. Well, I'm saying to hell with sitting on my ass. Vaun's taking the Rutherford in from tactical."

"Sorry to disappoint the captain, but I've already assigned myself to the Nightingale with Lieutenant Gataana."

"The Nightingale? She's a type-fifteen bucket! She's the smallest ship in our bay!"

The pair entered transporter room 3.

"She's also the nippiest little ship in our fleet," Sass replied in defence. "And, with me at the helm, the deadliest."

They stepped onto the transporter pad.

"Huh? We'll see about that. Meantime, I guess I'd better find myself a pilot."

Then, with the two ships in perfect alignment – matching speeds right down to the last cochrane – they beamed across to the Rutherford.

* * *

The doors parted for Picard like orange curtains, foretelling the opening of this final Act that seemed to him more befitting of a Shakespearean tragedy, and the captain stepped into the thick atmosphere of the bridge. There hung a cold and weighty tension all about the room, as though the air itself was charged with electricity.

His bumps had begun to goose and the fine hairs of his body were standing on end. None present were yet aware of his arrival and so he found himself standing back quietly for a moment, observing the scene.

Worf stood close-by at tactical. He spoke ardently with an officer about strategic matters, the gleam in his eyes exposing his quiet enthusiasm. It was good to have him back on the bridge once again, even out of Starfleet uniform.

Deanna Troi. She was sharing a moment with Will; looking over his shoulder at his own command console. Something Riker said made her smile warmly back at him. It was Picard's feeling that the counsellor faced the hardest task of all – going through this ordeal experiencing everyone else's fears on top of her own.

And, just beyond them, operations management. Data's post. Filled now by Lieutenant Sallyanne McPhee. Though it was true that McPhee was second only to Data in her abilities at Ops… There was still a deep void remaining with his absence.

Picard's attention was drawn then to the aft terminals. There, at the engineering station, La Forge worked away.

On spotting his captain, Geordi shut off the engineering terminal and made his way over. "Captain, the back-up to the ODN is operational and secure, and we're ready to transfer power to the core defence field."

Picard nodded. "Well done, Commander. Is everything else in order?"

"Yeah, we're ready. As ready as we can be."

Picard again nodded.

"There's something else, Captain," La forge indicated in a secretive tone.

Picard regarded the engineer's manor a moment before offering him the privacy of his readyroom.

Minutes later, Picard was literally scratching his head. In his hand sat a modified hypo/phaser pistol. "Are you certain this will work?" he asked, holding the weapon up.

"There's no reason it shouldn't," replied Geordi, almost sadly.

Picard then gave him the nod of approval, followed by a sigh of regret. "So, it's come to this?" he said, eyeing the strange gun. The gun that would kill Data.

Geordi interrupted Picard's brooding contemplation: "I also dusted off this actuation device. It'll still de-activate him. It won't be any more effective than the last time, but I thought it might come in useful."

"Yes. Yes indeed." A glint appeared in Picard's eye then.

Geordi pointed to the gun in his captain's hand. "Should I take that to the boarding party?"

"…No… I will take responsibility for its use. When we board his ship, Worf and I will lead the operation. As Data's captain… I should be the one to…"

La Forge filled in the dead space: "And this?" he asked, waving the actuation device.

"See that Worf gets it," Picard said. He lifted the hypo-gun. "And let's keep this one to ourselves."

"Understood." La Forge left him.

Picard took another moment to consider the weapon he was holding, and all its ramifications.

"Data."

After a short time, he returned to the bridge and, now that his presence was known, the captain took to his role. "How long until we reach the rendezvous point, Mr. Jutla?" he asked the Indian pilot at Conn.

"Twelve minutes, Captain."

To Riker he said: "Begin."

Will made inputs into the console at his side, some of which were commands directed to Ops.

McPhee made the necessary adjustments, re-allocating power and resources to Riker's specifications.

Many decks, already evacuated, were now shut down – all power and life-support directed to more crucial systems. All scientific research was halted, and all non-tactical scans and tests ended. It was now all for the war. All was directed toward conflict. A crew dedicated to peace, in a vessel designed for exploration and study, forced to battle. It was a sad day. Yet, it was a day that would set the tone for all future days.

There came a chime to Picard's right. It was a communication to tactical.

"We are receiving the signal from the gHin TAQ," said Worf. "They have engaged the enemy."

"They won't be expecting us for another hour," Riker noted.

"Approaching system now, Captain," said Jutla.

"Here we go, Number One," Picard said, edging forward in his seat. "Disengage warp. Take us in – full impulse."

* * *

The two ships dropped out of warp on the edge of the Epsilon Ursae system and navigated the Klingon mine blockade. They skimmed passed the gaseous eighth planet and moved deeper into the system.

* * *

McPhee reported: "We have reached the pre-designated co-ordinates, Captain." Her voice quaked a little.

"On-screen."

A blank view appeared, empty of all but scattered stars and a section of the planet 5th from the sun. The N-class world appeared yellow, covered with dense white clouds of water vapour. But no Klingon attack cruiser, nor the enemy fleet.

"Confirm our position, Mr. Jutla," Picard ordered, stepping down from his chair.

Riker joined him.

"Position confirmed, sir," said the man at Conn. "We're just where we're supposed to be."

"So, where's the gHin TAQ?" puzzled Riker.

Picard had to consider his worst fear. "Mr. McPhee – scan for wreckage, please."

"You think maybe Data was too much for them?" Riker asked.

"I can't discount it."

"Negative on wreckage, Captain," came the reply from Ops.

There was an atmosphere of panic setting in when Troi joined them at the front of the bridge…concentrating.

Riker saw past Picard to Troi. "Deanna?"

Picard turned to her also.

"They're out there." …She grimaced. "…Tortured minds…lost souls … and the Klingons."

Worf spoke up: "Incoming message from the Rutherford, Captain. They are picking up multiple engine emissions; heading zero-four-two mark one-five… beyond the fourth planet – toward Epsilon Ursae six!"

Riker muttered: "Looks like they encountered some difficulty in stopping him."

"So it seems, Number One," said Picard, returning to his seat with the others. "Now let's return the gesture."

It was time. However, now that the time was here, Picard seemed to halt.

"The Rutherford awaits instruction, Captain," said Worf.

Picard came to life again. "Take us in, Lieutenant. Nice and slow." He turned to tactical. "Lieutenant Worf–" Then he caught himself. It was just like old times. But it was the wrong time to get nostalgic. "_Ambassador_ Worf," he corrected, "inform them to proceed with operation 'Sly dagger'."

* * *

**Meanwhile in Rupert Giles' quarters:**

Giles began prepping the girls for the casting. "The spell requires three of us, as in the three points of a triangle: The Spellcaster, the Vessel, and the Anchor. This triangle, rather oddly, forms the circle of life. 'That which ends at death'. When this circle is formed in the surroundings we are emulating here, and a catalyst is introduced – in this case the power of Eyghon – a rift is created."

"Will I be able to go through it?" Buffy asked.

"No," replied Giles. "As the Vessel, the rift will form within Willow."

Will gave a cringe. "Anyone else think this's starting to sound like not such a good idea?"

"You'll be fine, Willow, don't panic," Giles reassured her.

"_Will_ I be fine? Can you really be sure? Because I get the distinct impression that you aren't entirely sure. That, maybe, you're doin' all this on the fly!"

"Right, then. We'll pack-up and go home, shall we?" he commented sarcastically.

Willow sagged. "I'm done."

"Now, this is a highly dangerous casting – with great peril," he continued. "I must be precise in my actions, and the triangle must not be broken for any reason once I begin."

"Otherwise?" Buffy dared to ask.

"I dread to think. Willow's spirit may be trapped for eternity in the void between life and death, we may all be burned away by the wrath of the Gods, we may just be rendered comatose, …all time could end–"

"Okay." Buffy put her hands up in surrender. "We get the idea. So, we don't break the triangle and it's alright?"

"Hopefully," he said.

Will gasped. "_Hopefully_?"

"There is a serious element of risk involved in this spell either way. Unfortunately this is the one course of action open to us."

"I don't understand how this works," Willow confessed. "The spell seems too easy. I thought you had to bargain with Osiris himself to access the afterlife?"

"Normally one would," said Giles. "What we're creating here is almost a 'backdoor'. But it won't necessarily give you access to 'Heaven' or 'Hell' – the places where souls rest after death."

"Then, where am I going?"

"Where? …Um…I…It's… Well, I've never been entirely sure," he said, echoing Willow's words. "Some place between where we are now and where we will rest once we have passed on."

Buffy's face went pale. "The Between Room," she uttered.

"The What?" said Giles.

"I've been there. In my vision. That's where the Sorcerer came to me."

Giles blinked in wonder. "It's beyond me how you found your way there."

"They told me no one at my level had ever done it before," she recalled. "So, what about me? What part do I play?"

"You'll be my anchor," Willow answered. "You'll keep my spirit tethered to this plain of existence."

"Alright," Giles pressed on, "we'll need to run through your dialogue, Willow. Then we set up the room."

* * *

The mood of foreboding and anxiety on the bridge of the Enterprise gained gravitas as the ship edged slowly through space. There hung a deathly quiet in the darkened room, as though any sound they made would give them away. Now and again there would be a beep from one of the consoles, and someone who had been holding their breath without realising it finally had to release it suddenly.

The bridge was dark, chilly, and menacing in that moment. The floor was lit with a neon blue glow from the shallow steps of the varying levels, and the only constant sound was the hum of the ships' engines.

The air was thick with imminence.

"We are approaching Epsilon Ursae Six," said Jutla from the helm, breaking the eerie stillness a little reluctantly.

McPhee at Ops reported: "Detecting multiple phased-energy discharges at twenty-four thousand kilometres off the far side of the planet."

"Have we been detected yet?" asked the captain.

Worf examined the area for enemy vessels or communications. "No, sir. The planet is masking our approach."

"Then, let us use that to our advantage for a moment. Take up a stationary orbit out of their sensor path." Picard headed over to the woman at operations. "First thing's first; what's the status of Epsilon Six? Has the planet sustained any damage?"

McPhee attempted to check. "Sensors are unable to penetrate a heavy layer of charged plasma gas in the planet's ionosphere."

"Launch a probe to scan beneath the plasma layer. But first… send it into a low exospheric orbit on the far side. I'd like to scout the situation over there before we proceed."

McPhee complied, prepared, and launched her probe.

Chancellor Martok, who thus-far had sat quietly at an aft station, now spoke out: "We should aid the gHin TAQ _now_, Captain."

To that, Picard replied: "Right now, surprise is our best weapon." He sat down and awaited the probe's report.

"We are receiving images from the probe now, sir," McPhee stated.

"On screen."

The feed from the reconnaissance probe appeared on the viewer – at first crackling with static interference – then quickly, with some adjustments at Ops, clearing to show a crisp image. The curve of Epsilon Ursae-6 rolled by as the probe rounded the planet. At any moment the view of the conflict would be within sight.

They waited.

Then, all at once, it dawned before them.

In the distance, a huge, hulking monster of a ship – the _gHin TAQ_ – under attack from close to a hundred shuttles. Like wasps attacking a rhino. The Klingons had 18 of their own fighters – assault shuttles – so far away they appeared like fireflies.

A crew of almost a thousand warriors manned the Negh'Var-type attack cruiser. She was the greatest starship of the Klingon Defence Force, the largest, most powerful class in their fleet, and the only Klingon ship as large as the Enterprise. The Bird of Prey itself was but an eighth of its size.

She was certainly a big ship. Not just big, but bulky and heavily armoured. And heavily armed. And heavily shielded. A battle-tank with outstretched wings bearing glowing red warp engines and a long thick neck finished by the head-module housing the highly protected bridge.

On her surface, she bore a deadly arsenal of weapons. 'Mega' disruptors. A forward phase disruptor cannon. A mass of disruptor turrets.

But she had a weakness that Picard was aware of. The disruptor turrets, should her shields fail, would have difficulty locking on to small vessels hugging close to the hull. Which those shuttles would soon discover and exploit.

"The gHin TAQ has sustained slight damage," Worf reported. "Nothing serious. Their shields are holding at ninety percent." Then he looked up from his station. "However, they _are_ overwhelmed in number."

Picard acknowledged. There was no sign visually of the Bird of Prey and Worf's scan soon confirmed it was not within their sights.

"I don't believe he is here, Number One," said Picard.

Riker looked questioningly at him.

"I doubt he would be willing to risk the loss of his host."

"You think he went on ahead?" Riker asked.

"No. He's close-by. Watching. Overseeing this." Picard pondered. "We must draw him out. Force him to engage us and reveal himself."

"How do we force him to drop his cloak?" said Riker.

His captain gave no reply as the probe dived into a lower atmosphere and the image-feed was lost.

When the probe resurfaced, McPhee perused over her console. "The probe detected no residual energy patterns and there appears to be no damage to the surface."

So, the planet and its humanoid inhabitants were so far unaffected.

"Question is," Riker put in, "how long will it stay that way with a war going on on their front lawn?"

"They won't last long at all if we can't put an end to this quickly," Picard countered. There was no choice; the war was taking place right here. "Release the shuttles, Mr. Worf. Bring tactical systems to full standby."

* * *

The Enterprise opened its bay doors and released seven armed shuttles of varying shapes and sizes. Under the hood of the saucer, hugged at the centre behind the forward torpedo launcher, the captain's yacht deployed and joined the shuttles in a standard attack formation. They were soon joined by the 5 shuttles of the Rutherford, and her yacht. Among them, the Narayan – the latest model of Starfleet shuttle with Captain Dave Freeman at the weapons. Also, the tiny shuttlecraft Nightingale with Trill commander Saskia Romani at helm and the furry white Antican security chief at weapons.

* * *

On the bridge of the Rutherford all the central command chairs were vacant. In charge of the 500-strong crew, joined-Trill commander Coren Vaun took one of the tactical posts. Caribbean helmsman Chevva Swift had his console set up to perform some special moves at a touch of a button. Lt. Commander Danil Oom sat ready at Ops. This was a crew not unfamiliar with combat. Then there was Anya. As Xander awaited his orders with the security teams, she waited in reserved terror at the rear of the bridge. Alone again.

* * *

On the Enterprise, all was as it always had been. Picard, Riker and Troi at centre-stage, guiding a crew of 750.

Geordi's voice came over the Comm system: "La Forge to bridge. Is that a layer of charged plasma I'm seeing in the atmosphere down there?"

"That's right," Picard responded.

"In that case, Captain, I have an idea."

* * *

La Forge took the warp core offline and vented the nacelles as a number of torpedoes were also quickly modified.

* * *

"Everything's set," Riker reported, glancing up from his personal computer terminal at his chair-side.

"Are all departments ready?" Picard asked of McPhee.

"Aye, sir. Just waiting for the word."

"Very good." Picard gripped his chair. "Red alert! Mr. Worf – raise shields. Weapons at the ready. Ramscoops open."

Sirens sounded as red lights flared throughout the ship.

Picard tapped his arm control and his voice echoed on all decks: "All hands – battle-stations."

"The Rutherford wishes us success," Worf recited.

To that, Picard smiled softly. "Please inform the Rutherford and all shuttles to standby for the signal."

Picard took a breath. "Mr. Jutla," he said, "…take us in."

"Balls to the wall," the pilot muttered as he breathed life into his panel.

* * *

The U.S.S Enterprise rolled forward and turned toward the 6th planet. Thrusters fired, angling their approach at 40 degrees.

* * *

"Slow to four-hundred and sixty kilometres per second," Picard instructed.

* * *

Within seconds, the ship began to hit air molecules in the upper atmosphere – the friction build-up raising the temperature around the vessel to 3000 degrees Fahrenheit. The Enterprise glowed and trembled under the pressure.

* * *

"Structural integrity field holding," said McPhee. "Inertial dampers at full output."

Jutla stated: "Entering ionosphere now, Captain."

The bridge fell dark as they felt a shudder signalling a ship-wide ionisation blackout. The emergency lighting brought some sight back.

"Cease descent," ordered Picard. "Level out and maintain orbit."

* * *

The ship slowed to a crawl, pulled up, then cruised effortlessly around the globe – ploughing through a dense yellow cloud of charged gas.

Ramscoops at the head of both warp nacelles collected the atmospheric gas and a good deal of it was beamed into the modified torpedoes.

…There was a moment of stillness in space…

Enterprise burst free and burned its way out of the planet's exosphere – surfacing on the far side in clear view of the gHin TAQ and enemy shuttles.

* * *

The warp core was brought back online and protected by 3 powerful forcefields and a containment field.

On the bridge, Riker reported: "Modified torpedoes are primed."

Picard gripped his chair tightly. "Mr. Worf – load torpedo bays. Prepare to fire at full spread."

"Torpedoes ready, Captain."

They had now reached the point of no return. Every crewmember onboard knew it.

They were scared. They were focused. And they were ready.

"Mr. Jutla – disengage thrusters and engage impulse drive."

* * *

The Enterprise' impulse engines fired up to full power and she barrelled forward into the affray.

* * *

The end is upon the horizon...

_**Fasten**_ your seatbelts…

_**Prepare**_ yourselves…

…For _**WAR**_.


	29. WAR : War Arena

**- War -**

**--War Arena--**

_**29**_

The USS Enterprise charged into the heart of the battlefield and cut open a great wound in the swarm of hostile craft – ripping through them like a dart. As if an angel, the flagship went gliding in past 2 Klingon Fighters to meet a dozen enemy shuttles head-on.

Shivering under heavy phaser-fire, the Starship pitched and fired her main banks – dorsal and ventral. A Federation Runabout felt the lash of the Enterprise and fell away briefly. A Vulcan freighter faired worse, as its shield failed and a nacelle punctured. Three craft dodged the incoming fire as another four were hit with little damage. Enterprise passed and let off a flurry of shots from her aft strip. The Runabout evaded one to be hit by the next, slowing it some.

Straightening out, the Starship headed for the far edge of the war zone.

* * *

The klaxons were now silent as the red lights still flashed, illuminating the faces of the bridge crew with a bloody hue.

"Status?" Picard called out dryly.

McPhee scanned her Ops panel. "Minimal damage."

"Shields holding," said Worf as he multitasked between phasers and communications. "…Incoming message from the gHin TAQ."

Picard spun forward. "On screen," he said, and observed the battlefield dissolve into the bridge of the Imperial Klingon Flagship. There, on the command thrown, sat a middle-aged heavy-set warrior.

"ENTERPRISE! YOU ARE EARLY!" he roared heartily, showing no trace of fear to them or his crew, as was expected from a warrior of such position. No weakness.

Picard lifted himself from his chair.

"CAPTAIN PICARD, I PRESUME! …I AM _DAJUQ_ – OVERSEER OF THIS ASSAULT FORCE AND CAPTAIN OF THE GHIN TAQ!" he boomed in introduction. "As this is a _Starfleet_ operation, I and my crew offer our services to you."

"Our thanks, Captain DAJUQ," Picard noted with a brief pause. "…If you'll bear with us, …we are about to change the nature of the playing field."

Captain DaJuQ looked a little perplexed, but nodded. "We will give you cover! But be warned, Enterprise, these PATAK will come at you on ALL sides until you are spun dizzy! Though I see you have a Klingon manning your guns!" he added approvingly. "A GOOD choice! …Ambassador," he added with a tip of the head to Worf. With that, the Klingon's transmission abruptly ended and their path ahead returned.

Worf glanced back with a subtle smile to Martok who, rather amusingly for the chancellor, had been completely overlooked by DaJuQ.

Martok gave an unconvincing huff of indifference. No doubt his Klingon pride had been wounded.

The view before them now lay empty of vessels.

"Optimal distance achieved, Captain," announced McPhee.

"Lay in a circumnavigational course at zero elevation, Mr. Jutla."

"Done, sir," Jutla replied within seconds.

"Initiate."

* * *

Enterprise rolled sideways and spun about – a dozen small craft on her tail – until the mighty Klingon Warship slid across their path, joined by 2 Attack Fighters, and drew their fire.

The Enterprise arced freely in open space some kilometres from the main conflict and began circling the perimeter. The warp engines vented suddenly and gushed a dirty cloud of yellow plasma in their wake.

* * *

Picard had again sat down. "Modified torpedoes, Mr. Worf. … Begin."

The Klingon targeted precisely – and hit the release.

* * *

As the Starship circled, creating an expanding cloud trail as it went, she began releasing torpedoes two by two; one fired high, one low. Each reaching a set distance before exploding in a yellow haze. Exposed to open space, the charged gas reacted just as it was expected – by expanding. Spreading out like grasping hands ensnaring their prey. Soon, a spherical barrier began to form. A wall – impenetrable to sensors or comm. signals.

An Arena.

They had almost come full-circle to their point of origin when their plan was discovered. A flood of enemy craft broke away from the gHin TAQ and made for the Enterprise at a rocketing pace.

Worf fired off 2 more torpedoes – and the shuttles went mad. The upper torpedo barely got underway before it was intercepted by a Federation cargo pod and exploded short of its mark. The 2nd torpedo proved too fast for the 1st kamikaze shuttle. But, with 10 more in line, it wasn't long before it connected with one.

* * *

"They're crazy," Riker scorned.

Worf stifled his own disdain. "They are attempting to create gaps in the field!"

"Do we have enough torpedoes to compensate?" asked the captain, himself stifling a potential rise of panic. Their entire operation hinged on the completion of this gas blockade.

Worf checked his station to verify how many of the plasma missiles remained. "Negative, Captain. We have only two modified torpedoes in reserve. If the enemy continue their strategy, we will fail to complete the barrier."

Picard gave it a split-second of thought. "We won't fail today. Mr. Jutla – bring us about."

Jutla locked on full forward thrusters at portside and full reverse thrusters at starboard, swinging the great ship around in a 24th century handbrake-turn.

"Worf – recalculate target-points," Picard continued, turning to McPhee. "Prepare two class-five probes for launch."

* * *

The Enterprise quaked again under fierce fire as she returned for a second pass of the gap.

* * *

Picard issued Worf and McPhee each with specific orders and then sat back, his finger playing tensely over his lips. …A moment of silent prayer… "Now."

* * *

Enterprise launched 2 probes away.

Each and every enemy shuttle on her tail immediately made a dash for them without a thought or regard, determined and efficient in their aim to bring those missiles down. But the decoy-probes were followed a moment later by the final 2 genuine torpedoes on the correct headings. By the time the enemy realised their error… it was too late.

Not only because the missiles hit their marks, but because now the full wrath of the Federation flagship's phasers were directed right at them.

Shuttles parted like waves of the Red Sea before Moses as the Starship stabbed at them with 7.2 megawatt blasts of phased energy, while a squadron of Klingon Fighters joined the Mêlée.

* * *

Wolath, son of Unang, drove his spear-like Attack Fighter into the very hub of enemy shuttles. To his right, and set back a little in the cockpit, his son – Korg – hammered the weapons controls with his enormous digits.

3 more fighters followed them in – to be confronted by 2 Andorian Defenders, a Vulcan scout-ship, and 5 Starfleet shuttles.

They were tough odds… yet sensors showed more were coming.

Above them, in a relative way, hung the Enterprise as she stood her ground – lashing phaser blasts at the small swarm, and receiving some stinging attacks in return.

"Vaag to Emperor Wing," Wolath bellowed over his comm. as he cut across the nose of a Defender to beat its weapons-guiding system. "Execute Gowron manoeuvre."

With that, the 4 Fighters paired-off.

The Gowron manoeuvre was a rather devious tactic for Klingons – much like the late Gowron himself. But the odds were not in their favour this day, so even underhand tactics were honourable.

One of the Fighters drew into position behind the Vaag and followed it as Wolath led them through the enemy herd. As they went, Korg would fire on selected targets with his disruptors. This would draw the fire of said target… allowing the trailing Fighter to pass with a clean attack.

It worked well for a time – destroying the Vulcan Scout and 2 of the Starfleet craft – but the enemy were far more underhand than even Wolath expected…

Out the corner of his eye he caught sight of movement through the window port – something only metres away! And coming in fast!

A siren roared.

The Vaag threw back and quaked painfully as an Andorian Defender exploded against their hull.

Korg's station burst into sparks and shrapnel. Fire and noise filled the cabin. The Klingon snapped back and smashed into the metal deck.

"Son!" Woloth struggled to regain his seat in the sloped cockpit. His eyes were fixed on Korg – who lay inert where he landed. Until a warning horn sounded at his panel. The Klingon's eyes first turned to his sensor monitor… then to the window…

A second shuttle pounded into the Vaag head-on. Wolath saw showers of light – feeling himself weightless for an eternal instant before hearing the sound of his own body break onto the deck. Only blackness met him then. … There came no Great Hall of Warriors.

* * *

**On the Enterprise:**

A purple candle trembled slightly in its mount under the shadow of a star-filled window. No flame yet burned at its untouched wick and no wind was present to shake it so.

Rupert Giles steadied himself as the Enterprise regained its equilibrium, and he continued to lay out a further 11 candles about his quarters until they formed a wide circle of 12.

Willow Rosenberg paced. She paced across the room and back again as she had for almost a quarter hour – mouthing words as she read from a PADD in her hands – trying to familiarise herself with the weighty spell she was about to leap into head-first. Well… soul-first.

And Buffy Summers – the eveready Slayer – sat on her ass for a change; prepping the spell ingredients in the central shrine at the heart of their own magical arena. She was just laying out the large clamshell to fill with sand as a flash caught her eye.

The shields outside Giles' window sparked suddenly and the room rocked with such violence that Buffy actually felt her knees leave the carpet.

Some of the candles tipped over onto the floor and a table light fell and smashed apart.

The quake subsided slowly and the gang, after a brief moment of panic, looked nervously to each other.

Without a word, Giles went about straightening the candles. Willow stepped back into her paces. And Buffy, after glancing ponderously out the window again, returned to work.

But something inside her said… This wasn't going to go well.

* * *

Wolath awoke violently to blind panic.

Death had come! … Yet around him he saw the familiar rear wall of the Vaag cockpit.

He regained himself, realising that death had spared him to fight on. To avenge his son! He tried to bring himself up, but felt the bones in his leg turn against themselves. Wolath let out a roar and braced himself with an arm that proved weak and damaged. He fell back – sprawled out on the deck. Closing his eyes, and allowing the throbbing pains to subside, he considered how he might overcome his disabilities so that he may repay the enemy for the loss of Korg.

…But where was Korg?

Wolath turned his head from side to side but saw no corpse where one had been. It occurred to him that the second shunt could have propelled his son to the front of…

Wolath paused. He could hear…

…He could hear the sound of the helm controls initiating. Then came the distinct sense of motion. The Fighter was moving. Someone manned the helm!

He tilted his head back to see a flipped view of the cockpit controls. There sat the distinctive silhouette of his son.

"KORG!" He could barely contain himself. Wolath pushed himself up on his wounded arm. Following his right thigh down, he came to the shattered knee where the lower leg bent away on a surreal angle. He grimaced and let out a growl of impatience.

"SON!" he called forward, turning to view the back of Korg's head. "Hold her steady a little longer!" He saw on the wall his mounted bat'leth. "I will be there momentarily!"

Wolath rolled himself onto his good knee and grabbed at his bat'leth. It unhooked from the wall with a little coaxing and he made a walking cane of it – holding the near-grip in his right fist and planting the far point through the grilles of the deck plates. Raising himself up, he dragged his leg to the gunner station and dropped into the seat like a dead Targ into a dish.

"What is our status?" asked the seasoned warrior.

No answer came. His son was locked in 'Go'Dar' – a Klingon rage. Wolath examined his targeting display and noted a number of viable shots. When he attempted to fire on them, however, he found his console re-routed. He looked to Korg, whose attention was fixed forward – his burned hands passing over the controls.

"Do not try to do this alone, Son. Let us repay them together!" Wolath beseeched.

No answer. The Vaag looped as Korg manoeuvred into an attack posture. His father leant forward in his seat to witness the view from the window himself.

Enemy shuttles flitted by – occupied with other targets – and the view steadied when the bulk of the Enterprise filled their sight.

The Vaag closed in on the Starship's underbelly.

"What are you doing?" Wolath pounded his weak fist into Korg's shoulder to force his attention.

And then Korg did turn.

Korg – with half his face gone – turned to his father with a deep hiss.

Wolath could not retain a shriek as he recoiled back into his chair. There, breath came quickly and his mind fell into disarray.

What was once Korg returned focus to the controls… and a ball of phased energy cannoned through space into the shields of the Enterprise.

When he saw the Starship swinging around at them and firing off phaser shots, Wolath was hit by a heavy dose of reality. His son was dead. The tall tales of an Army of the Dead were really true.

…And the Enterprise was going to destroy the Vaag.

The Klingon forced himself through pain and anger out of the seat and upright. He locked the bat'leth tip into the floor grid and stood over his son now, considering what his final act should be.

Beside Korg's head, his mek'leth rested in its wall-mount. Wolath took it. Held it in a shaking fist. Waited for uncertainty to pass. Brought it up until the tip hit the ceiling….

Then sliced it deep into Korg's shoulder – tearing through flesh until it met resistance and came to a bloody stop under the Klingon's right collarbone. Wolath teetered back with a near-gasp. Korg's head and neck were inches from being severed from the body.

A cold moment passed before Korg slumped into the controls.

The Vaag pitched sideways and went out of control. Wolath almost fell, but the sword held firm in the deck. He managed through pain to drag his son's body out of its seat and regain the ship quickly. What he found when he did, however, was dire.

The Enterprise hit him with another blast and he tried to evade. Noting that 2 Attack Fighters from his own wing were now closing in on him, Wolath attempted to contact them – only to find the comm. system fused.

He took his hands off the controls then and looked out the view port. He could now see with his own eyes the 2 Klingon Fighters approaching at speed. Wolath stood without using his sword and faced his doom grimly, yet anticipating his journey to Sto-Vo-Kor.

The Fighters came in – firing their disruptors wildly – shaking Wolath's world and filling it with sparks and the smell of burning machinery.

Behind them, The USS Enterprise dropped into sight and closed in on him.

But Wolath accepted his death proudly. "I die not before I have both avenged my son, and seen my enemy slain at my feet."

Korg spat suddenly at his heels and grabbed at his father's twisted limb.

Wolath gasped in shock and disappointment–

Then the Vaag exploded into dust.

Still, the Hall of Warriors did not meet him…

* * *

Wolath materialised to find himself in a transporter room surrounded by a group of Klingons led by the famous General Kuhl.

"Welcome to the Enterprise my fellow warrior!" Kuhl greeted him. "Quickly – tend to your wounds then return and join our boarding party!"

Wolath's heart lifted and he allowed the Starfleet medics to take him away. Soon he would be mended. Then he would deliver his vengeance!

* * *

Captain Picard stepped back from tactical. "Shields up. Damage report?"

McPhee examined Ops. "Some minor scarring to the hull on decks five and six."

"Our shields are at ninety-two percent, Captain," Worf noted. "The Klingon is being taken to sickbay."

"His condition?"

"Stable."

"What's the situation with the barrier, Mr. McPhee?"

The lieutenant scanned the cloud wall. "I'm still reading a small pocket of low ionisation," she reported. "But the gas is still expanding… it's just a matter of time now, sir."

"Then let's make the most of it," Riker urged.

Picard agreed. "Fire at will, Mr. Worf."

* * *

Near 30 hostile shuttles came swooping in on them in a tight formation firing phasers and plasma charges, and the Enterprise met them violently.

* * *

Picard watched the viewer with hands gripping tightly to his seat as the Starship rocked and trembled.

Klingon fighters darted around them, combating the overwhelming number of small ships; almost obscured by a constant barrage of weapon flashes.

Worf, even having transferred rear phasers to Martok's aft station, struggled to handle the sheer odds against them.

* * *

A former Sal Fusian science shuttle – manned by 3 demons all possessed of the will of Evil – evaded 2 energy blasts from the Imperial Klingon Fighter G'bah and cut across her bow, scraping her shields. She entered the inner defences around the Enterprise as the Starship fired a hastily aimed phaser beam. The shot pierced and evaporated the shuttles' shielding and ruptured a large wound in its hull. The vessel spiralled and hit the Enterprise' shields protecting her command module.

* * *

The bridge jerked for an instant, a standing crewman falling hard and heavy into the carpet. The viewscreen flickered, almost dissolved, then returned to full clarity as the impact subsided.

* * *

The demon shuttle, torn and broken, fell away into the void and vanished through the writhing mists of the gas cloud.

It was then that Picard made the wise choice to regroup their forces and hold out as a solid unit until such time as the barrier formed completely.

The Enterprise and the gHin TAQ came together at the heart of the forming arena, with 10 of the original 18 Klingon Attack Fighters still working for the powers of good.

The enemy were still strong, however, and many at almost 80 ships.

The two Starships drew into a huddle with the Fighters and protected each other. Soon they found themselves caught within a bubble of assailants – they, in turn, caught within a bubble of slowly expanding gas…

Right then, it all changed.

The remaining break in the wall of ionised gas finally sealed.

In that very instant, confusion spread through the Army of Darkness as Evil's link to his minions was severed.

The Klingons continued picking off targets until it became obvious the enemy were no longer able to fight. As the Klingons saw it, it didn't take a warrior to kill a toothless Targ.

And, so, the spherical arena grew still and quiet – but for the occasional kangarooing of a rival shuttle at the hands of a dazed demon.

One Klingon Fighter, manned by both dead and inanimate former warriors, drifted almost with purpose – locked into its last assigned course.

McPhee on the Enterprise clocked it at 400 metres and closing. With a swift and well-executed shot from Worf, the Fighter's engine system was phasered to a pulp. A last-minute tug from a tractor-beam sent it ambling slowly into empty space.

Silence came at last.

Almost painful in its stillness.

* * *

The Enterprise' command centre had become hushed and static with anticipation. It felt to all like the break in the storm.

"Now he'll have no choice but to enter the fight," Riker indicated, drawing the crew back into the room.

Captain Picard didn't take his eyes from the screen. "And when he does, we'll have him, Number One."

Riker flipped open the small terminal at his chair-side. "Scan the wall for any localised spatial distortions."

McPhee obliged.

"At the first sign, Ambassador," Picard said to Worf, "lock on with everything and fire."

"What about Data?" asked Counsellor Troi, after prising her bottom lip from between her teeth.

Picard closed his eyes a moment, pained. When they opened, his resolve was still present. "Our priority is to cripple his ship. Without knowing what other tactical improvements have been made to it… we shan't take any chance. My order stands."

Worf caught Troi's pleading look to him. The captain was correct, of course. But, for Deanna's sake, it wouldn't hurt to report any risks that may be present. "Captain, there is a chance we may destroy the J'ktah'rij," he said, referring to the Bird's title.

"Everything we've got, Mr. Worf."

"Aye." The tactical console chimed. "We are being hailed by the gHin TAQ."

"Open a channel."

Worf played a hand over the controls and gave Picard the signal.

"gHin TAQ, this is the Enterprise. Go ahead."

When DaJuQ's bold voice rang over the comm. channel, his confusion and near-impatience was apparent. In simple terms, he was asking Picard just what in the hell was happening. The gas sphere, the sudden standing-down of the enemy. It was all so bizarre. And it took some carefully chosen words from Picard to explain the situation without letting out too much of the 'supernatural' aspects.

Although DaJuQ was not left with a clear understanding, Picard did make it clear that he should keep up his guard and watch the enemy craft very closely. Anything could happen. And they had to be ready for it.

"There is a cloaked Bird of Prey out there, Captain," Picard explained. "And it is our task to find it… before it finds Earth."

"Aah!" DaJuQ roared. "A HUNT!" There came the sound of stretching hide as his body immediately drew upright in his seat. "This will be a GLORIOUS pursuit! gHin TAQ out!"

Picard blinked, and turned to share a beguiled look with his Number One.

"At least someone's having fun," noted Riker.

* * *

The USS Enterprise rolled forward. She drew close to the barrier and began to circle the enclosure, scanning thoroughly as she arced. The gas had formed a shell of ochre cloud infused with electrical fluctuations – sending sharp tendrils of colour darting through its mass. Long seconds passed that stretched to minutes in the hollow with not a stirring from the enemy. The ships of 'Data's' fleet caught within the walls of the gas arena floundered, halted, and drifted without order.

* * *

Martok viewed with tense, unwavering eyes the screen before him. He was seeing an advanced model of the gas wall as the Ops sensors were reading it. At every little dimple and fizz, he would go back and re-check – scanning again the size and nature of the distortions for telltale evidence of a cloaked ship.

Worf hung over tactical – himself tensed physically – preparing for the general's results.

* * *

Enterprise cruised steadily along the interior of the arena, with the gHin TAQ hovering at its centre. About her, a garrison of Imperial Fighters held themselves ready. Waiting. Watchful. Prepared for the inevitability of a sudden onslaught.

* * *

Worf's eyes were glaring down at the detailed readings from Martok's station as they were patched through to tactical. At intervals, just out of his own natural vigilance, he would allow a glance at the external sensor monitor. The first few times, he saw the same thing; disorientated shuttles drifting randomly about the battlefield like leaves in a gentle breeze. This would have remained his view had he not noted a type-9A Starfleet shuttle drifting out rather close to the Enterprise' underside. For now, as he zipped his eyes over to the sensor read-out, the very same shuttle seemed to be… drifting in the opposite direction. And, unlike leaves, these shuttles were not susceptible to the changing winds.

Worf gave up watching the barrier scans right then. Instead, he focused entirely on the shuttles. Like a hawk, he watched their every movement, every shift of axis, every rotation and course irregularity.

Before long, a knowing scowl that bore his gnarled teeth spread over his face. "Captain!"

* * *

In space, dead and demonic fingers triggered tiny thruster pulses, and shuttles began to steadily move…

* * *

On the Enterprise' bridge, Picard looked on intently at the viewscreen.

"They appear to be aiming for a loose, surrounding attack formation," Worf explained.

"That's subtle posturing for a herd of animals," Riker observed. His meaning was quite clear – the damn shuttles were back under control! Which meant…

"He's here," Picard stated.

"Should I send warning to Captain DaJuQ?" Worf asked.

"No, Mr. Worf," answered Picard. "Let's not give ourselves away just yet. Our comm. may be monitored. Scan for that distortion, now that we know there is one out there. Find him before he clears the wall."

* * *

The Enterprise pushed up to the cloud-face as close as Jutla dared to take her and picked up pace to cover ground.

* * *

Sensor information flashed across Martok's screen in a blur. His elbows on the workstation, hands rolled into fists at his temples, he struggled to see any clear data. He noted the irony in that as the only one capable of reading anything at such a rate was Data himself.

Every thirty seconds or so the screen would stop – fixed on a pocket of space within the barrier with irregularly low ion disturbance – yet, every time on closer inspection, with a more focused scan, it would reveal SOME ionisation within.

This boiled Martok's blood each time.

It was a risk, but… he HAD to narrow this down.

The chancellor quickly took into account the size and shape of a cloak generated by a Bird of Prey of the model they sought. He programmed this into the computer with the added parameter that such a pocket must exhibit a crisp, clearly defined edge and shape. He had no idea if it made the search impossible – given the extremely narrow search field he was inputting – but he had grown far too impatient and time was out. Martok punched the board, sending out a wide-beam scan. If any results came back from this narrow search, he KNEW one would HAVE to be that ship.

"La Forge to bridge."

Picard prayed for no problems. "Report."

"Some good news, Captain. I've modified the forward phaser emitter to release inverse-tachyon particles. If he's using a tachyon deflector, these babies should adhere to his cloak like they're steel filings on a magnet."

Picard gave a sigh of satisfaction. "Thank you, Geordi."

Martok's station gave off an alert tone and the screen lit up with a result. Just ONE!

Zero percent ions… moving slowly through the gas at constant speed…

"Got it!" The chancellor wheeled around to tactical. "Zero-eight-seven mark two-seven-one! – NOW!"

Worf already had it.

* * *

Enterprise released a sudden beam of phased energy into the far side if the barrier wall.

The shot hit the target precisely, dispersing a shower of inverse-tachyons, and the hidden Bird's cloaking field lit up like a massive disco ball. The now clearly visible target moved swiftly into the war arena and an army of shuttles returned to life fully – meeting the wrath of the Klingon Warship.

* * *

Picard held onto his chair and edged forward. "Fire!"

* * *

The Enterprise unloaded all barrels – sending a tirade of photon torpedoes coursing across the void while phasers stabbed out with wild purpose.

* * *

Within the dark of the Bird's bridge, the possessed Commander Data reeled as sparks signalled each impact of fire and rattled his vessel madly.

"Damn it! Shut off that tachyon diffuser! And switch to secondary cloak NOW!" He slipped across to the forward consoles and leaned toward the viewer – displaying the full form of the attacking Starship. "Damn you, Data… why the hell didn't you see that one coming? Alter course and position! ...Time to show these Godless Starfleet infidels the power I wield!"

* * *

Worf fired two more photons into the inverse-tachyon field – only to see them travel through and beyond – hitting nothing.

"We've lost him," the Klingon admitted hesitantly.

"Somehow he managed to shed the inverse-tachyons," Riker observed from the terminal beside his seat.

Picard's teeth gritted together and the arm of his command chair felt the fierceness of his grip.

Riker tried to ease his captain's tension – though he felt his words held little hope: "He can't return fire without dropping that cloak. Worst-case scenario; we have to defeat his army of shuttles before he shows himself."

Picard's brow dropped. "There are possibilities far worse, Number One."

Riker puzzled.

"They all depend on what his other weapon is."

Of course. Riker had almost forgotten. The enemy didn't just escape Traders' World with a tachyon diffuser. They had something else in their arsenal. With any luck… it wouldn't turn out to be anything too sinister.

* * *

The great disruptor turrets of the gHin TAQ spun and locked – her cannons firing ceaselessly at the cloud of enemy vessels around her. Some were brave enough to drop in close to her shields and attempt to take out her turrets. Each time they were met fiercely by a Klingon Fighter.

On the command deck, Captain DaJuQ sat upon his throne, barely feeling the impact of enemy weapons. He called to his tactical officer: "How many of our Fighters are still operational?"

The balding tactician checked his monitor. "Eight still reporting in!"

"How many of those are protecting this ship?"

"Three, Captain."

A slight tremble passed under them followed by a deep and hollow rumble.

"Turret five has been disabled!"

"Number of turret attacks is increasing, Captain!" weapons officer Gruun added.

DaJuQ growled under his breath. "Call in all remaining shuttles to our perimeter! Now!"

* * *

Worf kept his eyes fixed firmly on his tactical display; looking for any sign of that ship. Even when he noted and reported three shuttles that had moved in on their position, he kept a lookout. After all, what better way was there to distract your enemy than by sending in an attack from another angle?

* * *

Three Sal Fusian Runners drove in towards the Enterprise from the starboard side and fired up their weapons systems.

Worf targeted the closest attacker, noting a weakness in its shields. He blasted it only twice with phaser fire and the small ship tore apart. The next two came in together and were not so weak. They fired wildly at the Starship as they closed in.

Worf made the best lock he could on one and shot out a phaser beam. The target, rather sharply, side-slipped to avoid – moving dangerously near to its sister ship.

This Worf saw as an opportunity. He fired again and again – the 1st Runner dodged each phaser blast until it almost sideswiped the 2nd. Both shuttles were forced off-course, breaking their attack.

The ambassador took complete advantage – dispatching them with a bombardment of phaser fire. The twin Runners shattered into debris.

The torpedoes he was saving for the Bird.

There came the shrill tone of a tactical alert warning.

In the moment it had taken Worf to blink, it happened.

McPhee screamed at Ops: "Incoming!"

Worf grabbed onto his console. "Brace for impact!"

A great BOOM rocked the ship.

People slammed into their workstations.

A second hit brought a thundering earthquake down on them – throwing McPhee from her seat.

Jutla initiated evasive measures.

* * *

Enterprise returned multiple fire…

…And hit nothing.

* * *

The room soon stabilised. Riker was about to call for medics when McPhee dragged herself up from the deck. "I'm fine," she guessed, checking herself over and locating a soreness in her elbow. "Just bruised." She took back her post.

"He's firing through the cloak!" Worf called out.

Captain Picard's lips stiffened.

"At least now we know what he's got," noted Riker.

Mcphee reported: "Decks ten through thirteen have lost power in sections three and four. Sickbay reports multiple casualties."

"Shields down to eighty-four percent," Worf added. "Phaser power reduced by a quarter."

"Enemy damage, Mr. Worf?"

His lips tightened. "Negative impact." He almost said 'I missed'.

"I don't understand it," Troi challenged. "How can he have obtained technology this advanced at a place like the Bazari Territory?"

Geordi's voice poured over the open comm: "Maybe it's not so advanced," he offered. "I can think of a risky and unstable way or two it could be achieved. …The torpedoes could be programmed to punch a hole through the cloaking field – but that runs the risk of destabilising the field and destroying the ship completely. Or… if he had a double-layered cloak… he could simply fire, raise a second cloak closer to the hull, and drop the primary… allowing the weapon to continue on course. Either way… it doesn't help us. Unless he blows himself up."

Picard did not expect such luck.

* * *

Data slammed back into his command seat. "Bring the tachyon deflector back online. I doubt they'll be firing anymore of those nasty little inverse-tachyons at us. Something tells me it was one of La Forge's last-minute tactics." Completely in a realm of his own, he chuckled away to himself. "Well done, Geordi. But the final surprise will be mine to deliver."

* * *

"Mr. Worf – report."

"No sign, Captain. His cloak is flawless."

Picard sighed and spoke into the comm: "Geordi, can you give us more inverse-tachyon particles?"

"I only had time to generate enough for that first shot, Captain. Right now we're just trying to hold her together down here."

It looked like they'd have to fire in the dark and hope for a lucky shot or two.

That was until McPhee turned in her seat and said the fateful words: "I think we're out of time, sir. The cloud is dispersing."

He tried not to let his disappointment show. "How long?"

"Within minutes."

* * *

Swooping in, a score of shuttles attacked them in tightly organised units.

It was a sweeping and relentless assault on all sides. Just as DaJuQ had warned.

* * *

"Shields at eighty percent!" Worf roared as the ship rocked.

((( BOOM )))

"Seventy-six percent."

((( **BOOM** )))

"Sixty-eight percent."

"Starboard shields weakening on decks sixteen, seventeen and eighteen; sections five to nine," called McPhee.

* * *

A torpedo materialised in free space, sailing headlong through the void, and crashed into Enterprise' Stardrive section.

* * *

Geordi pitched over into the system display table as sparks fired from terminals on all sides of engineering. Crewmembers dropped and dived for cover. The forcefields guarding their warp core stressed and warnings flared. Geordi held onto the display unit and, before he could assess its readings, it went out like a dead lamp.

* * *

Jutla attempted manoeuvres to protect the engineering levels but the invisible Bird matched his every step and still managed to avoid return-fire.

Torpedo followed torpedo until the damage was such it punched a hole right through their shields.

* * *

An entire conduit fired its contents across main engineering like a mass of writhing, steaming internal organs.

Disembodied voices called through the rising smoke cloud:

"ODN hardline stability compromised!"

"Primary systems failing!"

"Initiate secondary power network!" La Forge yelled back as he tried to get his systems table up and running again.

The Enterprise lurched in every direction at once.

Over the comm, a scream of imminent warning came from Lab Technician Rhannon Hallar – quickly cut off by an explosion of static.

"The back-up processor is gone, Commander!" Wells reported.

Worse than that… the processor…and probably the whole science lab with it…

La Forge crawled up from inside the display table as it flickered back to life. "Switching to auxiliary systems."

He was joined by Benson. "Emergency power only. Forcefields down, containment field still holding."

"Divert all power available to warp containment. Keep that core together!"

* * *

Dozens of small ships criss-crossed around them, giving Worf an almost impossible counter-offensive.

Enterprise spun around like an aircraft in a nose-dive to avoid the enemy attack on the engineering hull; firing phasers from all banks; destroying a few shuttles, crippling some. Most of the shots dispersing without a hit.

* * *

On Picard's command terminal, gaps were clearly beginning to show in the arena wall. They were out of time and overwhelmed. Picard gave in to the inevitable and ordered the fall-back plan.

The channel to engineering was still open. "It's time, Geordi."

"Understood," he replied. "I'll be right up when I'm done here."

* * *

The USS Enterprise twisted about onto the correct heading and rolled away from the fight.

The Klingons, under orders, followed the Federation Starship and passed quickly through the mist and out of the war zone.

Darkness scoffed at their cowardice. He pitied them, but not enough to give them a second of relief. He moved his army after them, still many at 50 shuttles, and sneered every metre of the way. He knew Picard had something up his sleeve. Probably acting more wounded than he seemed. Likely would be poised ready for him on the other side. No matter. His fate was already decided. His and that of the universe as a whole. Rhamhal of the Pestihl'nhar was an invisible enemy with enough drive and all the torpedoes he needed to do the job.

* * *

Geordi cleared his people from engineering and set the final wheels in motion down there before heading for the bridge.

* * *

There was a moment of anticipation as the Bird of Prey drifted through the haze to meet them.

* * *

When his vessel emerged through the cloud, Data observed his viewer through narrow eyes. The yellow haze thinned away to reveal Klingon Fighters trailing the Enterprise as it followed the Warship into….

…Into a squadron of Federation shuttles! … With a second Starship!

If not for Data's remarkable sight, Darkness may not have noticed through his surprise the tiny flash in the corner of the screen.

A stab of fear cut into his gut as he silently ordered magnification.

The bright sparkling object grew to fill the viewer yet remained obscure. Again, Data's eyes proved invaluable when, between each blinding flare, the object revealed itself for a fraction of a second…

It was the warp core of the U.S.S Enterprise. Flashing like a beacon in his path. Within its shell; an internal reaction building to an unthinkable end.

Data's face displayed emotion like never before … "No…"

* * *

His shuttles scattered in all directions and the Bird of Prey banked hard to avoid the core.

They covered little ground, however, before the warp core of the USS Enterprise finally went critical.

It BLEW with the power of a small star, releasing masses of energy in a terrifying explosion.

An explosion that rocked the foundations of the universe like a second Big Bang – sending a tide of ripples through the very sea of space.


	30. WAR : War Rages

**- War -**

**--War Rages--**

_**30**_

!BANG!

An explosion took out the entire forward controls of the Bird's command centre sending Data's mechanised frame spiralling into the ceiling with a crunch, and smashing back down into the deck.

A metal rafter creaked above and Data flipped quickly onto his back to witness the heavy girder that hung overhead dislodge itself and drop.

A rage that burned hotter than the fiery pits of hell rose up within him and the girder froze suddenly mid-fall against Data's raised feet. He roared and tossed the metal beam aside.

Confusion had its grip on everything around him as his minions fumbled aimlessly. He rose from the shaken deck and began pulling his sh–t together. As he checked the destroyed controls he had his creatures verify the ships' status. What came back was a mixed bag. Most systems worked well enough – seemingly they had avoided the worst of the blast – but the cloak wasn't looking good. The cloak that was linked directly to his double-layered cloaking device. The same double cloak his torpedo launching commands were routed through.

"Shields! Ready shields! And bring disruptors up to full power!"

Things were about to get rough. And he didn't like it.

* * *

Ripples of visibility passed across the hull of the Bird as enemy Fighters regained their equilibrium and regrouped, forming a protective shell about the Scoutship.

* * *

Geordi La Forge stepped out of the turbolift and onto the bridge of the Enterprise. Picard acknowledged him with a nod of gratitude. As he made his way to the aft engineering station he glimpsed the Bird of Prey materialising on the viewscreen and he allowed himself to feel a degree of triumph.

Worf vocalised their success: "His cloaking device has been disabled, Captain."

A smile almost surfaced at the corner of Picard's mouth. "Mr. Worf, please signal the Rutherford with orders to target all hostile light-craft."

"With pleasure," he replied.

"Lay in a pass across the Bird of Prey, Mr. Jutla. Target phasers and photon torpedoes on their weapons and propulsion systems."

* * *

Commander Vaun took the orders at the Rutherfords' tactical station and passed them onto his crew. Pilot Chevva Swift set the Akira-class Starship rolling, Danil Oom worked Ops, and at the rear of the room, Anya stood enveloped in a cloak of terror beyond anything she'd experienced since the moment she became human again.

"Any words of advice from the expert, Miss?" Vaun asked of her.

She struggled with the question a moment as she observed the mass of vessels shown on the big TV screen on the wall… "Hit them hard. Take no prisoners. Demons like to play dirty so… watch your back. … Watch all our backs."

"You heard the lady. Take us in, Chevva. Hard and fast."

"Dat's me speciality, Commanda'."

Deep in the belly of the Rutherford, Xander Harris sat with the boarding party in the security office – phaser rifle in-hand and the power cell clamped between his feet. His was a tense waiting game. Yet, all his mind and heart was focused on his precious flower. Anya.

She had to get through this okay. She just had to.

* * *

The U.S.S Rutherford charged forth with all her shuttles and the captain's private yacht – drawing in fire from the hostile fleet. The Enterprise slipped in behind them, her target – the very villain who created this war.

Captain Dave Freeman prepped the weapons of the Narayan as the bullet-like shuttlecraft slipped by its own squadron. In the tiny Nightingale, Lieutenant Gataana turned to Saskia and wished her good hunting.

* * *

Data didn't have a command throne any longer in his broken bridge. But he stood as if a King at its centre and drew ready to meet the assault.

Reports came in:

Primary shields still holding. Weapons at 90 percent max.

He knew the Enterprise would come for him. He would target their weak Stardrive section and see an end to Picard and his crew of hero wannabe's.

* * *

Enterprise passed over the Bird of Prey, pounding half a dozen torpedoes into her along with a tirade of phaser fire. In return, her engineering section took a multitude of disruptor hits before she went out of range.

"Her shields are weakening," Worf reported. "Ours stand at sixty percent."

McPhee had thrown some extra power into the Stardrive' starboard shields, holding her up well.

"Bring us about the long way round, Mr. Jutla," instructed the captain. "Also…I'd like to ask the fleet for some cover…"

With the USS Rutherford and Starfleet shuttles focused on taking down the enemy fleet, and the Enterprise targeting the Bird of Prey, the Klingons being the Klingons took it as fair game: a free hunt. The Warship fired on anything hostile that dared to move with her countless gun turrets and disruptor cannons. Her damage so far was minimal, and still 8 of her Attack Fighters were operational.

New orders came in across the fleet from the Enterprise.

Every remaining Starfleet shuttle and Klingon Fighter converged on the edge of the dispersed gas cloud and began to attack Data's ship in a wild frenzy.

* * *

His command deck rocked, but Data kept his footing. Shields were depleting but torpedoes were almost routed back to the main controls, and he was having none of this nonsense.

"They're trying to confuse our sensors… fire disruptor cannons – full spread!" he screamed aloud.

* * *

The Bird fired off a number of blasts from her wing-tips into the swarm of shuttles. Most of the shots vanished into the fleet as it quickly parted – to reveal the Enterprise as she burst through the cloud and unloaded all barrels.

The Bird of Prey took direct hits on all sides.

* * *

The whole fight, for Darkness, had slipped into Hell. His ship was barely holding itself together. Shields almost exhausted. Computers crashing. Fires in all sections.

But weapons were working! And he always had his Evil will!

* * *

A group of seven shuttles possessed of Evil spun around at that moment and in a terrible suicide attack, they drove themselves headlong into the Rutherford. Another nine took the same kamikaze mission to the Enterprise and both great ships were hit by a storm that turned the stomachs of their crews inside out.

The Rutherford's shields were drained badly and damage had been taken to key sensor clusters.

* * *

Worf reported the Enterprise' shields were dangerously low…

"We have lost phasers," added the Klingon, still not completely recovered from his whiplash.

"Stay on the Bird," Picard continued defiantly. "Quantum torpedoes. Target weapons and shields."

* * *

Commander Vaun saw fallen crewmen all across his bridge. He rolled over, signalling Hutchinson to take his tactical post before dragging himself over to the civilian girl.

"Locate that Klingon heap," he ordered as he checked Anya over. She stirred.

"Having a little trouble getting a reading, Commander," Hutchinson noted. "Looks like we've got some scarring to the primary sensor clusters."

"Try, Ensign. And prepare a torpedo spread; lock onto their shield generators and weapons systems."

Vaun slapped his communicator badge. "Can we get a medic to the bridge?"

After a moment of struggling, Hutch found their enemy. "Got it."

"Fire!"

* * *

Both ships fired together unexpectedly and the smaller Scout took the double impact of twin torpedo spreads – writhing like a wounded snake.

The Bird was crippled in every way and hung together only by a thread.

* * *

At last the chance he was striving for had come! Picard shot up from his command chair. "Chancellor, Ambassador – prepare the boarding party." He reached the turbolift as Worf and Martok moved to join him. "Will, you have the–"

(((BOOM)))

A great fireball burst out from the heart of the Bird!

The captain physically staggered back. '…_Data…_'

On the massive viewscreen, the Bird of Prey – gutted across her belly – seemed to 'drop out of the sky'.

Picard quickly returned to his seat. "Report?"

Jumping back to his terminal, Worf rushed a scan. "Severe internal damage; they have lost all helm control."

La Forge had patched into the tactical systems as soon as he'd seen that last explosion tear into Data's ship. He checked the scout's speed and heading. "Captain! They're on a collision course with the gHin TAQ!"

"Raise them!"

"Already performing evasive manoeuvres!" Worf responded.

Martok looked up from beside him with distant eyes. "…It is too late."

* * *

The Bird of Prey slammed into the shields of the gHin TAQ and burst through them – its shields designed to deflect weapons, not other ships. The small scout impacted on the hull of the giant Warship and shattered apart, but the heavily armoured skin on the surface of the gHin TAQ protected it from the worst of the explosion.

The massive Klingon flagship began to list to one side – slowly drifting off its axis and towards the planet below.

* * *

Picard saw the Bird destroyed and gripped onto the edge of his seat. "Data…" He realised then that the Negh'Var-class Attack Cruiser showed signs of damage more severe than one would expect. "Status?"

Geordi already studied his panel. "I can't explain. There's no reason for the loss of control."

"Open a channel."

"No response," said Worf.

Martok turned from his aft station. "The impact overloaded their shield generator."

"Sensors are picking up some residual energy patterns," La Forge noted. "From multiple transports!"

Was it possible the crew of the Bird could have made it to the Warship within such a tight window of opportunity?

Martok cried out: "Their life-support has gone offline!"

Geordi spun back to the sensor display. "I'm detecting hundreds of forcefields cordoning off sections of the ship."

It was Darkness! He was on the bridge!

"The Klingons are trapped, sir!" said the engineer.

"Confirm – their shields are down?"

Worf verified quickly. "Aye, sir."

"Drop shields; beam them aboard. As many as you can."

"I cannot, Captain," the Klingon replied surely.

"What?"

"They're coming about!" cried Martok. "Locking on weapons!"

…That ship could pound through the Enterprise' shields in 3 or 4 good shots!

Picard slammed into his chair and held on for dear life. "Full power to shields! Evasive manoeuvres!"

* * *

The fully armoured Warship turned on the 2 Starships and brought her many disruptor cannons to bear on them. Green cannonballs of energy went forth from her metal flesh and tore into both Starfleet vessels. Soon her Mega-distruptor was charged to full intensity and she unleashed devastation upon her enemies.

The Enterprise physically spun on impact and her shields evaporated.

The Rutherford received a second jolt from the Mega-weapon – throwing her shields down to 15 percent and further compounding her sensor glitch.

Enterprise' impulse engines fired up, sending her into a retreat arc; giving her crew an opportunity to gather composure.

* * *

**Deep within the Enterprise: **

Finally, they were ready. In all the shaking and quaking, things had at last fallen quiet and the spell was prepped. A triangle of sand marked a barrier around the ingredients of the casting. In the centre lay the clamshell containing more sand. Beside it, the granite bowl of ground incense. Next to that, a charcoal block and a Klingon dagger – kudos to Buffy for that – and an Eyghon talisman soaked in blood. Finally, in Giles' corner, the 13th candle stood waiting to be lit.

"Well…" Giles said, setting down 2 containers for trapping Darkness, and scanning the room, "that's everything. …I think."

Willow, with PADD in-hand, shot him an irked look, which he replied to with a shrug. It wasn't like anything was certain here.

"Damn," Buffy cussed with a click of her fingers. "I forgot the popcorn, kids."

Rupert allowed himself the slightest smile. "And, on that note…"

"Let's get to it," she finished.

The Scoobs took to their corners. Willow sat at the head before the windows, Buffy – the Anchor – to her left, and Giles to her right – The Caster.

He passed an eye over their young faces and considered making some comment about 'luck' or 'crossing fingers'. In the end, he abandoned it as fluff. No reason to delay any longer. Rupert reached down with a quivering hand and brought up a small ignition device. He set the charcoal block carefully in the sand-filled shell and fired up the igniter. Leaning into the heart of the Triangle, he brought the igniter down to meet the charcoal.

Already he was sweating with fearful anticipation.

The point of no return had arrived…

((BOOM))

Part of the deck beyond the guestroom next-door exploded suddenly out into space with a thundering pop. Everything around them rose to the ceiling and crashed back to the deck in a state.

Buffy landed in a crouch and caught a sight that she would never easily forget. All the contents of a half dozen rooms blew out into space. Equipment. Furniture. People.

She watched their twisting, flapping bodies fly away into the expanse.

* * *

Shattering earthquakes bombarded the Enterprise until her hull cracked.

A sudden and bone-jarring impact took the bridge by surprise and a side terminal .?docid=18048140parked and blew.

Lieutenant Sallyanne McPhee shielded her face from the blast. In that instant, a sliver of shrapnel tore across the bridge and embedded itself straight through her ribcage – throwing her over the workstation and into the deck.

Picard staggered back into the command chair. "Medical team to the bridge! Report!"

Riker stumbled over to the empty seat at Ops.

"Direct hit to the portside pylon!" called Worf.

La Forge feverishly worked his aft station. "Captain, we're losing the port nacelle!"

* * *

The left wing trembled terribly as it weakened under the pressure of the ships' flight and right through the centre a great fissure formed. The enormous pylon folded slightly… Then cracked in two, severing the warp engine from the vessel in sparks of flame.

Enterprise rumbled on as the nacelle twisted in space behind her – shards of debris trailing in its wake.

* * *

Riker struggled with his controls. "I'm having trouble holding her together, Captain."

"Hold her together, Will!"

His controls signalled a critical warning. "I can't!"

* * *

The stump of the wing burst open from within and, like a bomb, exploded.

* * *

"Losing helm control, sir!" Jutla cried out. "She's off-balance!"

"Compensate, Geordi."

"She's unresponsive."

Riker turned. "Inertial dampers failing!"

* * *

The portside wing – now nothing more than a jagged blackened stump – sealed off as emergency bulkheads closed. Much within the open wing was lost as no power could be made available for forcefields.

* * *

"Divert power to the dampers."

Geordi checked his display. "The structural integrity field is taking up everything we've got left – and it's barely holding."

The ship groaned from dented bow to crippled stern, and her bridge creaked and shuddered as they began to feel the turbulence of their flight.

Picard winced.

"Structural integrity field at fifteen percent!" warned La Forge.

There was nothing for it. He opened his mouth and, loath to say the words, he uttered simply: "Abandon ship."

None present were surprised nor protested.

Riker opened the internal comm. as he also typed – for the benefit of areas where the comms were down but terminals remained operational. "Emergency notice; crew to escape pods. All hands, abandon ship. Repeat; all hands, abandon ship."

Picard moved across to Riker at Ops. "Locate the nearest suitable landing site and program the escape pods. Somewhere other than Epsilon Six if possible, Will."

After trying so hard to keep the 6th planet free from interference, he had to get his people to another safe, UNpopulated location.

Riker quickly complied.

* * *

Giles groaned and cradled his throbbing head as he pealed his body from the deck. Managing to sit upright, he found a little blood leaking from a small cut at his right temple. His heart sank the moment he saw the state of his quarters as the entirety of its contents had been lifted and slammed down by a great impact – scattering and wrecking almost everything in his site.

He kicked a chair away from off his bruised legs and looked about for the girls.

Buffy he found instantly – she crouched in the centre of the room staring out the window with the most horrible pale expression on her sweat-covered face.

A moment later, Willow appeared intact from behind the overturned couch. The pair followed Buffy's gaze. There wasn't much left to view.

"I saw people," she uttered.

Rupert and Will could only imagine the horror. The trio seemed to freeze at the shock of the situation. What in the hell were they going to do now?

Then the door zipped open to reveal a security officer. His face flushed, hair dishevelled and the pin-badge absent from his uniform.

"Come with me," he demanded, waving his arm out into the smoky corridor.

Buffy shot up. "What happened?"

"Please follow me now."

Willow pointed to the mess that had been their spell shrine. "But…our–"

"There's no time!" he snapped. "This way. Please!"

The man's tolerance seemed to reach its limit when they hesitated at the notion of abandoning their all-too-important work.

"MOVE!"

Giles alone noted that this man wasn't either of the 2 guards he'd witnessed posted outside his door. And it was Giles also who noticed them missing as they retreated from the room.

Outside, the passageway was awash with smoke and floating debris. But, not 10 metres away, the corridor visibly and abruptly ended. Beyond it – nothing but outer space. And the 2 security men were gone. Standing guard at his door, it seemed, had been their final duty.

"We need to hurry," said the guard. "This way."

Buffy swallowed her heart back into her chest and said, as they moved away from the gaping hole: "Giles, we can't leave now!"

Given the situation he wasn't sure exactly how to argue that point. He did however try to broach the subject: "E-excuse me, Officer–"

The man didn't acknowledge as he led them further away from their room and clear of the smoke.

Buffy impatiently broached the subject with greater verve: "Where are we going?"

"Orders from the bridge, Miss," the officer responded without looking back. "We have to evacuate this level. They need to close the bulkheads and seal the deck – those forcefields won't hold out for long."

She looked to Giles. But he could only admit that their mission had been ruined beyond all hope. The ship simply wasn't safe anymore. And this entire level was about to be exposed to deadly space.

The group moved quickly along the passage until they reached a Jefferies tube hatch. The man led them into a wall tunnel that Buffy and Will recognised from their early escape attempt, and up the ladders to the next level.

The officer – a yellow-shirt – sealed the floor hatch and moved to a working wall panel to report the lower deck clear. As he did so, he discovered Riker's updated notice:

Immediate evac on all levels.

"Come on. Quickly." He slipped into a jog.

The Scoobs gave chase.

"Where are you taking us?" Giles called forth.

"To the escape pods. And I'll have no arguments!"

"The what?" Buffy yelled in confusion.

"Lifeboats. We're evacuating the ship."

"Wait–"

"I said NO arguments!"

And so he kept on going, and they were forced to keep on following him – through heavy shaking, bursts of smoke and fire, and hard impacts – until he stopped them finally where huge hatches had dropped from the walls to create ramps into the lifeboats.

He ushered them quickly into the small pod but before he could lock the hatch, Buffy returned and stopped him. They were a man down. Giles was missing!

"Wait here for me," said the officer. "I'll retrace our steps and get him back here–"

"No!" Buffy insisted adamantly. "I'm coming with you!"

"Look!…Miss…Please." He put up his hands in appeal. She could see he was young and struggling to keep his composure. All he wanted was to do this one task he had been assigned.

"Please," he went on. "I need you to stay together here. I'll go back for your colleague right now so I can get you all safely off this ship. …Okay?"

Buffy sighed heavy and stepped down. "You promise you'll find him?"

He put a fist to his chest. "You have my word."

"Go," she said, and no sooner had she stepped inside the pod when she heard the hatch close behind her with a thud.

Security Officer Fournier noted the girl on the small interior video link as she hurled fists and profanity his way through the half-meter thick door.

"Sorry," he uttered, before releasing the escape pod into space.

* * *

Rupert gradually became aware of his consciousness. He opened his eyes to a blurry world and ran a hand over his face to confirm he was missing his spectacles. He seemed to recall a few knocks and minor explosions on their run to the lifeboats – one of which he accredited his current state to. But just where was he? And more importantly…where were–

"Your spectacles, sir," came the familiar voice of the young officer they were following.

Rupert slipped his glasses back on and accepted the man's help to stand. Around him he observed a metal panel at his feet and a number of pipes exposed from above.

"I wasn't sure I'd find you," the officer said. "I sent the girls on ahead so now I gotta get you to another pod. Can you walk, Mr…?"

"Giles. Yes. I'll be fine, thank you. Lets go then shall we?"

"Sure. Sounds like a plan to me, Mr. Giles. Lieutenant Fournier, by the way."

Rupert's response was suddenly interrupted by the shivering and hissing of a hanging length of pipe.

Fournier felt it wise to just go, so he steered Giles away. But, as he moved, a sudden terrible thing happened. The pipe – filled either with something toxic, hot, or both – split in half and swung up, blasting its contents into Lt Fournier's face. Screaming out in shear agony, he stumbled backwards – beating at his face with flailing arms – and crashed to the deck.

Giles, the instant the venting stopped, went to the man but saw nothing he personally could do. The man's face was melted into something unrecognisable. His arms still flapped about. His body shaking. Something close to a cry sounding from someplace inside his head.

Giles closed his eyes and put a hand against the wall. He couldn't even bare to imagine Fournier's pain. Everything had gone wrong. He had never expected any of this to happen. It was a complete mess. A disaster of epic proportion. And he had to face it… They weren't going to perform any spell.

He opened his eyes again. To hell with it. The spell was ruined. There wasn't a hope of solving this war with magic. It was time to do something useful.

Ripper took Fournier in his arms and hoisted his quivering body over his shoulder.

"Hang in there, son. I'll get you to a doctor."

Beverley could surely use a hand right now.

* * *

The USS Rutherford made every effort to evade the green energy blasts that lashed at her, but the very number of cannons bombarding them made Chevva's attempts utterly futile.

Hutchinson struggled with tactical. "I'm blind here, Commander. I can't even see the gHin TAQ to make a lock."

Vaun left Anya's side, calling again for a medic, and headed around to Hutch.

Danil, the part-Vulcan Betazoid, reported from Ops: "Sensors are no longer responding. We're fighting a ghost."

The bridge rocked hard and something rumbled deep below.

"Shields down, sir." Hutchinson informed them. "And last word from Enterprise is she's in evac."

"We can't take much more of this," Vaun considered as another impact jarred them. "Evac sounds like a good idea right now – set it in motion."

Hutch moved off to turn the plan into action, but Dan piped up: "We have an E.E.V problem. We took heavy damage to the dorsal ring. We're down by eight pods."

"I guess we ain't all gittin offa dis boat," Chevva added.

"Not a problem," replied Vaun. "Means there'll be enough of us left to make a dent in that Warship."

* * *

Xander realised, when his fellow security team members began dispersing from the office with talk of evacuation and escape pods, that they wouldn't be boarding any ship today. Which left him with only one other concern. He dropped the rifle, kicked away the power cell, and ran to the bridge.

* * *

"Hutch – fire a full phaser spread. If you see anything light up on that screen you hit it with everything," Vaun instructed.

The room jumped again and trembled.

"Damage report?"

Dan huffed. "I dunno where to start…"

"Negative impact…that I can tell," reported Hutchinson.

The girl groaned at Vaun's feet and he returned to tactical. "Hutchinson – please take the young lady here to an E.E.V and get her clear of the Rutherford. I don't think we'll be needing her 'expert' advice any further."

"Aye, sir." He moved off again to carry out his order, but this time the lift doors opened to reveal Xander, panting and sweat-covered.

"Belay that order, Ensign. Back to your post." Vaun switched over to the tactical map at the back of the bridge. "Get her and yourself out of here, Mr. Harris. Where are my enhanced sensors, Dan?"

Xander raced across to Anya as she lay on the deck. She was making faint noise and stirring slightly. It was a good sign, he thought, as he tried to wake her gently. She seemed in a deep sleep and so he took hold of her shoulders and rocked her. "Anya? …Anya? Wake up, Sweetie."

She only groaned louder.

"Anya!" He shook her.

SLAP! She sprung up and threw her hand across his face.

"OW!" He recoiled. "Hello! Ow!"

Her eyes almost popped out in surprise. "Oh! Honeybunny…" She now threw her arms around him and squeezed him preciously. "I am sooo sorry."

"Hey!" Vaun yelled down to them. "You still here?"

_Right_. "C'mon." Xander took Anya by the hand and led her away just as quickly as he could.

By the time Xander managed to find the way to a lifeboat ring, the yellow-shirt there had no good news. Xander insisted he put Anya in a lifeboat. He had some crazy notion about getting onto a shuttle somehow and fighting in this war. But the yellow-shirt could only tell them that all the working pods were spent. There were no little boats left to take them off this big boat.

"There has to be a way," Anya groaned. "I don't want to stay here anymore."

The Rutherford quaked under fire. Xander gave the officer a pleading look.

The blond-haired Bajoran sighed and worked his systems terminal. After a time he said: "Alright, guys…we have an option…"

He managed to locate an escape pod without a full crew, passing them by at close range. Enterprise model ASRV-173. "I'm gonna tie into the emergency beam-out transporters…. And put you on one of those boats…this'll take some precision workmanship…"

Xander caught his breath. "Um… transporters? The beamy thing? No. Absolutely no."

"Not an option," the guy replied, making computations.

"Send Anya," Harris pleaded. "Get her someplace safe – I can stay and help here–"

She punched his arm viscously. "You'd send me away to watch you die here–?"

"HEY!" snapped the yellow-shirt. When he was sure he had their attention, and that they were nicely still, he smiled. "Have a safe trip."

With that, their entire existences broke down into infinitely minute particles of energy and shot across space.

* * *

"I think we're heading for that planet!" Willow shouted, looking at the computer screen to the front of the pod. She was strapped in tight as the lifeboat shook turbulently as it careered across the void between the Enterprise and the baron planet ahead.

Buffy – strapped in opposite her – bounced in her seat. "I swear I'll never put a banana through the harrowing trauma of becoming a smoothie ever again."

Things eased off a touch then and their flight became almost calm.

To their surprise, 2 figures suddenly faded into reality before them. And one of them had his eyes scrunched tight, squealing like some kind of pig-hawk creature.

"Xander!" Buffy beamed, unclipping herself instinctively.

"Anya!" added Willow.

The pod lurched and Buffy slammed back into her seat.

"Seatbelts!" Will called out.

The Slayer clipped herself back in. "Bad move. My bad."

Anya strapped a dribbling Xander in before fastening herself down beside him. Soon as he was recovered and settled he began feeling to see if his face was on the right side of his head.

Turbulence returned with a bite as they sped toward the planet – no doubt right through the war zone.

Buffy yelled out over the din: "How did you guys get here?"

Right then, without warning, something struck them violently – jolting them like a fairground ride and spinning the tiny boat around.

The lights flickered above them and went out.

Soon enough, calmness returned and the pod seemed to now glide softly without a shake or shudder and low-level lights gave them visibility again.

Buffy unhooked herself and looked out from a tiny porthole beside her seat.

Willow slipped over to the chair in front of the computer terminal. Not a single glimmer of life remained in it. On the wall, however, by the porthole, a single small sensor panel remained lit and functional. She examined it. "Looks like we're still heading to the planet," she said.

Xander and Anya got up from their seats.

"What happened?" asked Anya.

Will played with the panel. "I don't know. I think maybe something hit us. Debris or something. But…Oh, no."

"What?" Buffy tensed.

"We've lost the computer!" answered the witch. "It must have overloaded."

"Or possibly it was blown into the next millennium!" Xander scoffed.

Willow shook her head at the sensor read-out. "This isn't good. This is bad. Very, very bad."

Buffy stepped over to her. "What are you saying?"

"Without the computer's automated systems, our approach trajectory–"

"Will! In English. Please," begged Xander.

Buffy nodded appealingly.

"Okay." Willow turned to address them all. "When we hit the atmosphere of that planet… if we're not in exactly the right position… at the perfect angle…" She took in a sharp breath. "We'll burn up on entry."

Anya verbally gasped. That was followed by sighs from everyone.

"The computer was supposed to calculate that trajectory," Will explained.

(Xander felt the weight of reality crush him completely. His legs fell numb and cold. Nausea threatened to take hold of him. He stepped away to the porthole and looked out. No fresh air for him there.)

"I've decided. It's official. I hate space," he mumbled to himself.

Buffy fought to find reasoning. "Can't we calculate the trajectory ourselves?"

"Even if we could…" Willow considered, "…we don't have thrusters. We're a drifting duck."

"I KNEW it!" snapped Anya. "I was right all along! We ARE going to die!"

"We're NOT going to die!" insisted Buffy.

(Xander saw out the tiny window as wreckage floated gently by and an apparently stationary Starfleet shuttle – still lit up – came into view.)

The Slayer struggled to accept the facts. "Willow – can you fix the damage? Get the computer–"

"Buffy… there's nothing I can do."

(Something flashed through his mind. The craziest thing.)

"I just don't know enough about these computer systems…"

Their voices faded away from Xander as he began pressing buttons on the only remaining computer panel that hadn't exploded in the crash.

Willow saw him aimlessly trying to decipher the screen before him.

As Buffy and Anya began to argue their fate, Will walked over to him carefully. "Xander?"

He looked like he was beginning to lose it.

He slammed a finger against the small window. "That shuttle," he whispered, shaking faintly. "Is it damaged badly?"

Willow used that one working short-range sensor panel to find out. "Some external damage but nothing major. Oh, wait," she said, reading the display some more. "There's a hull-breach in the cockpit."

"How big?" he asked.

"Small. Like… pea-sized, maybe."

"But it works?"

"I think so. But…there's no one in there to fly it. …Not even bodies. …That's weird."

That seemed to both satisfy Xander yet, at the same time, increase his despair. He looked back out the window as they slowly moved past the craft. It was SO close.

(He closed his eyes tightly and tried not to think.)

Willow put a gentle hand on his back. "Are you…?" …_What? Okay?_ Of course he wasn't okay. They were facing certain death.

(He almost felt like he was floating. His body seemed to stop at the hips and he was surprised that he was still standing, as his legs had NO feeling. Only that hollow drunken feel that came with true fear.)

"Xander?"

(It was Willow. She was talking to him.)

"We've faced worse than this," she said.

But had they? Really? Where were the vampires? Or the demons? Or the other psychotic creatures that usually were the face of their almost-certain-deaths?

No.

This time they were sat in what was basically a flying computer that even Willow couldn't fix – on a crash-course with hot fiery deadness. This was well and truly something else.

(Yet there was a thought on the edge of his mind that threatened to make him feel impossibly worse than he did at that moment. He just couldn't focus.)

"My God," Willow muttered to him. "You're _really_ sweating."

(He thought he could feel her hand on his forehead, but he was trying too hard to concentrate to be sure.)

His eyes were still tightly shut. Like a pair of Jack-in-the-boxes just waiting to burst open.)

In the background, Buffy and Anya were still in heated conversation. Accusations of blame were flying between them.

(Xander remembered something. Something Captain Freeman… Dave …had told him.

'It helps to have something to focus on.')

"If Dawn hadn't read the stupid inscription in the first place–" Anya spat.

"I don't believe you!" cried Buffy. "You're blaming Dawn for THIS?"

Anya went on: "And if YOU hadn't left her alone with the box–"

"ME? Anya–"

"And Giles just HAD to leave it lying around–"

"STOP!" Buffy physically put a hand on her. "You can hand out blame all day," she said. "But it ISN'T helping. Anya–"

(At that moment, Xander found his focus. It was love. His lifeline. 'Anya!')

His eyes snapped open.

They watched with fear and curiosity as Xander began tearing open the locker-style sections of the wall.

There HAD to be other emergency measures in place for if the computer systems failed in these cans. He pulled out all kinds of weird crap in his search – spreading most of it across the deck – until he came to a wall section that had a touch-pad key. He pressed it and the door slid open a crack before it jammed.

Buffy took a step in his direction. "Xander, what are you doing?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't give them false hope.

The door was truly stuck, so he gripped the edge in his hands and with shear determination he managed, with some struggle, to open it almost halfway. It was enough, as he could already see what he was looking for. He peered right inside the 'closet' space and saw seven spacesuits in all.

The other Scoobs watched him stop again – his hands against the wall – eyes wide shut. But only for a moment. He seemed to gather himself again and began a new search.

He looked high, low and everywhere between, but could not find it. Not even ONE. No jetpack. He stopped again. Who was he kidding? He had NO idea how to work one of those damn things anyway. Dave had taken care of that side of his previous space-walk.

"Xander?" Willow said, quite worried. Probably for his sanity. Like maybe he was at the end of his rope.

He had to face reality, though. Last time he'd been along for the ride. He COULDN'T do it. Not by himself. He COULDN'T. He just couldn't.

"Xander?"

It was Anya. '_Anya_'. He sighed a long and shaky breath. Without a jetpack he wasn't sure it could be done.

(But, after all, wasn't he a man? Wasn't he MORE of a man than Captain Freeman? Freeman would do it.)

"There IS a way we can get out of this," he said with false conviction.

A minute later they looked on him with complete disbelief.

"Are you _sure_ you know what you're doing?" Willow questioned.

'_No_' He thought. "I'm sure," he said. "I've done it before, remember?"

"I'm coming with you," said Buffy. She was the Slayer after all. Danger-girl.

"No, Buffy," he insisted.

But she pushed on: "You're not going out there alone."

He looked at her severely. She got the meaning. What, after all, could she DO out there?

"_I'm_ going," Willow informed them bluntly.

Xander shook his head. "No one–" he started.

But Will shot him down: "How are you going to fly that ship? How are you going to get US out of HERE?"

"Do YOU know how to fly one of those things?" Buffy argued.

"Well, no. But I've never TRIED." Will fumbled. "And neither have YOU," she aimed at Xander. "Which one of us would you put money on to learn in just a few minutes? Because that planet isn't getting any further away."

* * *

Soon, they stood next to each other on the roof of the pod – Willow and Xander – in full spacesuit garb. The shuttle they were aiming to reach about 30 or 40 metres away. Wreckage floated all around them. A HUGE planet ahead.

'_Face your fear, Harris. Think of the mission. The mission_.' What he wouldn't have given right then for one of those crazy-ass rocket-packs.

"Physics," Harris said over the suit comm.

"Huh?"

"Physics," he said again, looking down at his feet and back at the shuttlecraft. "If we push off with our feet … we'll go _that_ way … basically forever … right?"

Will pondered. "…In theory."

"In theory?" He felt like calling it quits and going back inside. Better to burn quickly than drift for days in the dark.

"I've never actually tried it, so…"

They looked at their target for a moment as they drifted gently alongside it. It was about time THEY repaid Buffy for all those times that she had saved their hides.

Xander turned to his friend and held out a hand to her. Willow took it in hers – like two children about to set off for their first day at school.

"Willow–"

"I know."

They smiled. How insane that felt to them.

"On three?" she asked.

"How about … on 'Go'."

"'Kay. On 'Go'."

They both bent their knees as much as the suits allowed and prepared to deactivate the magnetic grips on their boots...

And, after a breath, they both screamed: "GO!"

Releasing the boots, they kicked against the pod and were surprised at how suddenly they were propelled toward the shuttle. Ten metres passed. Fifteen … twenty. It was working! They were going to make it! Hope.

Hope crept to the surface of Xander's thoughts for the first time since he thought up this crazy mission. But hope went crashing into oblivion when Xander reacted to a glimmer at the corner of his vision.

To their left, travelling at great speed, came a large, spinning hulk of wreckage. It came hurtling. Right AT them.

"Xander!"

He didn't stop to think. He let Willow go and pushed his feet against her as hard as he could manage – forcing them apart.

Willow felt the wind being kicked out of her as a sudden burst of speed propelled her into the side of the shuttle with a bang. She panicked slightly as she began to drift away from the hull. Quickly, she initiated the boots and, when she was sure she was secure, looked back for Xander… Just in time to see the twenty-foot slice of debris hit him head-on and glide away into the void – taking Xander with it.

* * *

A Klingon Fighter infected by Evil – its weapons useless – dropped down on the Narayan and rammed into her.

Helmsman Dean reacted fast enough to avoid a worse crash, but the collision took out the Narayan's phasers. The Fighter raced alongside them – shunting into them repeatedly.

Freeman fumed and ordered his pilot to drop back.

The zombies overshot them, turned, and flew back at the Narayan in a terrible game of chicken.

Dave's console lit up. "Their weapons systems are coming back online!" Acting on pure instinct, Freeman ordered: "Ahead quarter speed – prepare to bring us about and fire main thrusters full!"

"What?" Dean barked, forgetting his place.

"Trust me, young Bull."

"If you insist, sir."

"That I do."

The 2 craft went flying at each other…

A warning sounded – Dean saw on the console that the enemy had them locked in target and were powering their phasers.

Dave allowed as much time to pass as he dared until the other shuttle was almost upon them. "Now!"

The Narayan rolled around like a tornado and fired her thrusters – blasting the enemy shuttle's window apart.

* * *

Willow struggled with a tiny hatch on the roof of the vacant shuttle, cursing and fighting tears. The maintenance port snapped open and flew from her grip into space. She had to keep it together for the sake of everyone. She stared into the relay panel before her for a long moment… then broke down.

_Xander_…

He was gone. For real.

_No!_

No. Not if she could get this bucket moving and find him. She had to hope. But that faded quickly when she realised the panel before her was nothing more than a diagnostic relay. She sagged in defeat and let the tears come.

Until a voice in her ear gave her a start:

"Try overriding the security, little girl, and let's turn that frown around."

She wheeled about clumsily to see none-other than Xander himself posing beside her with hands on hips.

She couldn't even speak.

* * *

The huge slice of debris had come from nowhere and crashed right into him…

Xander felt his wind knocked out as he gripped the mass of metal that propelled him away. It rotated slightly, giving him footing for his mag-boots so that he managed to stand and assess his predicament. His heart went like a galloping gaggle of horses – his mind also racing as he struggled to think what he could possibly do to save himself from the rest of forever flying around the stars.

He surfed along at speed – seeing many other heaps of wreckage darting around him. In the distance on all sides, shuttles and starships battled for the future of the very universe.

His knees gave way as a small burned brick of shrapnel clipped his island, jarring him. Recovering, he spotted another sheet of metal heading his way – threatening to get dangerously close. His first instinct was to look for some escape route in case it got too close for comfort… then it dawned on him to check its path. Watching its movement, and turning back in the direction Willow would now be, he found it difficult to judge but figured it was at least going nearer the way he wanted to be… So, he went for the crazy option of switching platforms.

* * *

The Narayan's thrusters cut out and she narrowly avoided a flying hull fragment – turning hard into an entire field of debris. She cut left, cut right – ahead a massive chunk of wreckage approached them. Freeman blasted it in two with the phasers and they shot through the inferno between. He aimed again for another oncoming ship fragment, but held off at the last second. "Sharp right!"

The Narayan rolled suddenly to starboard and missed the hull plate by metres.

Dave apologised to Dean, explaining the sight he'd caught of a Starfleet officer in EVA suit drifting along atop the wrecked section of shuttle.

The pilot spun them around and drew in behind the floating plate. Sure enough, a lone figure stood magnetised to its surface – completely oblivious to their presence.

"Can we open a channel to their suit comm?" asked Freeman.

"I think our transmitters are fried, sir. I can patch in our receiver though."

"Alright; open a channel."

Crackling came before a voice rang out that Freeman recognised immediately:

"Battlestar Galactica….yeah…great show. Star Wars…sure…love it. 'I wanna be Han Solo'. Meh. … I hate space."

Freeman smiled. "Whatya think about dropping shields and picking up a stray?"

Dean registered the 2 enemy craft moving in on their position. "Sounds like the insane ramblings of a madman. If I may say so."

"Probably right…" Dave pondered…

They heard for a while Xander's heavy breathing. After a short time, he muttered again to himself: "I'm not gonna make it."

Dave frowned and looked beyond Xander to see a drifting shuttlecraft in the distance. Scanning, he found a second space-walker on its roof. "What about a tractor-beam?" said Freeman. "Do we have enough juice for that?"

"Sure."

"Okay!" He set to work. "I'm gonna give a friend of mine a little nudge."

Soon, Xander found himself positioned right beside the shuttlecraft so that he could almost step across to it. With a wave of complete and total gratitude, he saw the Narayan off and crossed to Willow.

She was quite relieved to see him.

With Xander's rough guidance – from his experience with Captain Freeman previously – Willow managed to access the controls from the diagnostic relay and get them into the Shuttlecraft .

After figuring the controls quickly, Will set up an energy field over the blood-encircled pea-hole in the shuttle's wall, and rescued a grateful Buffy and Anya from the doomed lifeboat.

The Scoobs were all aboard their commandeered shuttle at last.

Surely things could only get better from here on…


	31. WAR : Ruins Of War

**- War -**

**--Ruins Of War--**

_**31**_

**Onboard the Shuttlecraft Shogun:**

"Is everyone okay?" It was the first thing from Buffy's lips the moment she realised she'd materialised.

Willow, out of her EVA suit and in simple grey Starfleet overalls, ran into her with a great hug of relief.

"What happened there?" Anya quizzed with suspicion, pointing out the section of bulkhead stained by a ring of blood.

Regarding the invisible hole through which the previous occupants had to leave, Willow shared a cringed look with Xander.

"Emergency exit," Xander replied with a harsh dryness before pealing his own suit away. Wearing the same jump-suit overalls as Will, he slipped into the back section. Sitting, he sagged and took a moment quietly, fighting his body's urge to shake.

A few seconds later, the Slayer stepped in and sat beside him.

"Thanks," she said after a long silence. "You did an amazing job back there. …I saw you get hit. …Thought we'd lost you…"

"Ditto," he managed.

"So…" she went on at length. "What now?"

He raised his head up then and eyed the replicator cut into the wall before them. "I'm gonna sit n' shake here a sec. …Then I'm gonna drink liquor."

She rested a hand on his shoulder softly, then left him in peace to deal with his demons.

* * *

"We're going to go somewhere safe now, right?" Anya pleaded as Buffy re-entered the cockpit.

"We're going to help the spacemen fight the bad monsters," she replied.

"We have a responsibility here," explained Willow.

"We're not fighter pilots or space people," Anya insisted. "This isn't our fight."

Buffy sat in the chair behind the weapons position. "But it's our war."

"Fine." Anya huffed with a face that said 'woteva'.

"How's our weapons?" Xander asked, stepping back into the room.

Will dropped into the helmsman's post and checked the display. "Looking good."

"Then we fight," he settled, taking his seat in front of Buffy.

Anya parked her butt behind Willow as the Wiccan-one examined the flight controls before her.

…

The Shogun lurched suddenly forward and slammed to a stop. And again. And again. By the fourth kangaroo jump the others began to groan, forcing Willow to re-evaluate her method of piloting.

A moment later, she gave out an 'Ohh' of realisation. "Oops. Sorry guys – got my deuterium injection rate a little off against my thruster output."

Xander's face creased. "Which means something in what language?"

"Wrong gear," she added

* * *

The Shuttlecraft Shogun fired up and shot away like an arrow.

* * *

USS Enterprise rumbled along like a thundercloud – the Klingon Warship gHin TAQ in deadly pursuit. At the head of the Klingon battle-tank, a Mega cannon let loose a disruptor blast that rocked the Starfleet vessel.

* * *

Spike was still alone in his quarters when the blast hit.

Completely abandoned and forgotten about, trapped in his blackened-out room, he'd spent the past half-hour staring out his window trying to get blind drunk on what he didn't realise was synthahol. At the moment of impact he'd decided enough was enough and it was time to find an escape from his prison. He threw down his glass – smashing it across the floor with all the other debris – and moved to his doorway to grab the guard there…

But his world came crashing to oblivion when the walls of his room tore away from the frame of the ship, and he was fired out into the stars.

* * *

Jutla's flight console blew a fountain of sparks out into his face, sending him reeling from his seat. One of the nearby ensigns darted across to him and offered to see him down to sickbay. Any delay could leave the man blinded for life.

Picard gave it the nod, handed the Conn over to Troi, and called for torpedoes.

* * *

Every last launcher about the surface of Picard's ship opened up in retaliation – unloading a great spread of quantum torpedoes on her enemy.

The gHin TAQ took the full barrage on the nose, taking serious damage.

* * *

"We have disabled their main disruptor cannon!" Worf reported victoriously then added: "However, we have exhausted our complement of torpedoes."

Their ship was now entirely weaponless, shieldless, and utterly defenceless.

* * *

The Shogun crossed beneath the saucer of the Enterprise when an explosion from its surface sent a ripple of turbulence through them.

Willow manoeuvred carefully as all manner of flotsam spat across their path from the bomb-blast and a tiny dark object zipped by with it.

"Did anyone else just see that?" Buffy gasped.

Willow suddenly took the shuttle into a sharp dive, spinning them through the debris wildly in pursuit of the dark object.

"Hold on guys, I'm lowering the shields!" she called out.

Anya almost choked on her tongue. "Are you insane?"

"Probably," came the reply. "I know I'll regret it if we live long enough."

Willow drew up to a second Starfleet shuttle, using them for cover as she dropped the protective shielding and initiated a transporter beam.

In the next second, Spike materialised within the cockpit.

His skin was wrenched taught across his bones and he seemed to be growling with distress.

"It's … a damn good thing … I don't soddin'well breathe," he managed.

"You have no idea," Willow assured him. "Even a little air and your lungs could have popped like a balloon."

Looking better already, he huffed: "No kidding?" Then he caught himself. "Hey!…Where the hell were u guys back there?"

Willow went quickly back to her controls. Buffy opened her mouth… then nonchalantly turned her attention out the window.

* * *

"Captain, we should leave now before the ship breaks apart," Riker advised from Ops.

"We need to bring that ship down, Will. At any cost." Picard looked to the bridge staff. "I ask only that three volunteers remain."

No one moved. Everyone took to their stations. Down to business.

"Got a plan?" Riker asked curiously.

Picard didn't answer with words. His expression said it all. He had something.

* * *

The shuttlecraft Shogun carved a passage through the war zone with an enemy Fighter tight on her tail.

The Scoobs onboard thought Willow's take-off had been shaky…but, when the Fighter closed in and shunted them hard from behind, they felt true whiplash.

"What are they doing?" Anya cried out in exasperation.

"They've lost weapons," noted Willow.

Xander grabbed his console. "I think they're trying to ram us to death!"

Buffy leant forward. "So let's give 'em something to ram!"

Willow drove the shuttle down under the belly of the giant Klingon Warship and rolled her over – the Fighter hot on her heels – and headed straight for something on its surface from which huge blasts of green energy fired out into space.

A cannon turret!

Their shields skimmed the surface of the massive ship giving them a bumpy ride.

Xander pointed nervously. "Will… that's a very big GUN."

"That's what I thought."

"You're still flying at the big gun," warned Anya. "Do you know that?"

"I noticed."

Spike pulled himself from the floor. "Willow…beam me back out…I wanna beam out now!"

Even the Slayer covered her eyes before, at the last instant, Willow pulled the Shogun up in a severe arc and shot away from the Warship.

The small Fighter tried to veer away but crashed head-on into the helpless turret like a fly on a windscreen and both went up in sparks of flame.

The gang roared with victory! Xander once again felt like Han Solo – triumphant against the evil Empire in his Millennium Falcon.

Willow's confidence with the helm went right off the scale and she rolled them back around and began circling back for a second pass.

As the Shogun turned, they caught sight of the distant Epsilon star.

Spike dropped to the deck. ""Whoa! Not that way!" he cried out. "Let's try n' avoid the UVs, eh?"

Will took note and increased their arc, turning them right into a squadron of hostile shuttlecraft.

Xander didn't pause for an instant. His training experience on the Rutherford guided his hands over the controls as he locked the targets and fired away.

* * *

The Rutherford circled around; already in a bad way, and rolled back toward the fight.

Onboard, Hutchinson struggled on tactical. "Sensors are down! I'm not seeing anything…"

Vaun joined him. "Okay… let's get something on viewer."

The screen lit up with the image of their flight path ahead.

Dan squinted, then pointed out a Starfleet Runabout chasing down a Klingon Fighter. "That looks like a bad-guy."

"Sounds reasonable."

Commander Vaun set up a manual lock and looked back to the viewer to see the bulk of the Klingon Flagship slide into their path.

When a whole mess of turrets upon its surface lit up with a green glow it was the only sign they had of a weapons lock.

Chevva had already begun evasive measures. But too little too late.

The commander winced. "Brace for impact!"

Multiple hits landed across her underbelly shaking the ship to her foundations.

"Our weapons are gone!" Dan called out. "We're blind and defenceless! …And looking at the rest of my screen…I'd say that's the good news!"

This was as bad as Vaun had ever seen it… and he didn't have the crazy killer instincts of Freeman. He gritted his teeth. "…Break off, Chevva."

* * *

USS Rutherford banked sharply and peeled away from the fight in a terrible state.

* * *

Picard witnessed the Rutherford falling away in all her distress and realised it was time to finish this conflict. No more compromise. He felt sorry to Data most of all. He, after all, had been the most tortured and innocent victim of the entire episode.

He ordered power from life-support and had all systems shutdown in the now empty engineering section. Thrusters he commanded at full power and all remaining to the tractor beam. He made steady his resolve. "Ramming speed, Deanna. …Take us in."

* * *

In the giant battle-bridge of the Warship, at the very heart of the vessel, Darkness watched through Data's eyes as the form of the USS Enterprise came rolling towards him from afar.

Right then he knew. He had already won.

He knew precisely, thanks to Data, what Picard was about to do. He had to admire the captain at least a little. That he would lay down his own life to complete his mission.

But Data smiled. He knew something Picard didn't. And the Enterprise was about to get a very big surprise. "Target the bridge," he said with absolute glee at his own deviousness. "And prepare to power up the Mega-disruptor!"

* * *

The Enterprise closed in.

Picard pursed his lips tightly and stiffened in his seat. He looked across to Worf, who returned a strong nod of approval. This was it. Things would finally end here. One way. Or another.

* * *

Enterprise was almost on top of him when Darkness fired up his lethal Mega weapon.

He could barely contain himself…

"Fire!"

* * *

A crackling ball of phased plasma burst forth from the nose of the gHin TAQ and tore across the void between the two Starships…

Yet, to Rhamhal's horror, the Enterprise suddenly pulled up – avoiding the disruptor blast – and towing her severed nacelle behind her.

The tractor beam tugged and repelled the nacelle – slingshotting it directly toward his Warship.

* * *

Worf recoiled as the tractor emitter blew – sending a reaction through his terminal.

* * *

Darkness had time for one last thought as the wreckage careered into him…

'_Picard! Damn you!_'

* * *

The bow of the gHin TAQ crumpled and exploded as the warp engine drove into her like a stake through the heart of a vampire. A cascade of fire detonated across her surface taking out almost every system onboard.

When the nacelle settled in its place – protruding as if a giant splinter in the eye of the ship – her propulsion and weapons were no more and she was left almost unrecognisable.

She drifted. Not a light remained on her surface and no sign of life remained in her.

* * *

The Imperial Klingon Attack Fighter G'bah – the last of her entire squadron – circled the mothership, scanning the severity of her damage.

Within the shuttle, the weapons officer – Torukh – had taken the helm from his fallen comrade who now lay decapitated across the deck plate. Everything his sensors were telling him said the Warship shouldn't even be in one piece. She was held together by Klingon spirit no doubt.

But the young Torukh would see his name burning in fire at the gates of Sto-Vo-Kor by bringing the enemy to certain death and returning justice and vengeance upon them for the countless fallen warriors of this bloody day!

The Enterprise' warp nacelle had cut deep into the heart of the gHin TAQ, exposing massive wounds that opened her insides up to the void. The Klingon youth located his flagship's warp core – lifeless, yet still containing enough energy to blow the vessel apart.

He did not waste time thinking twice. He wouldn't see his spirit fade with old age and rot. Powering his thrusters, he dove into the Warship – sparking against the ragged edge of the opening and rolling awkwardly into the remnants of a corridor.

"FOR HONOUR AND THE EMPIRE!"

* * *

The bridge crew of the Enterprise watched on as the small Klingon shuttle disappeared into the Warship's innards.

"Mr Worf?" Picard motioned.

The ambassador checked with the aft station. "They appear to be heading for the engineering level."

"He won't make it," Geordi said. "There's no route through the emergency bulkhead there."

"Can we hail them?"

At that point there came a shudder from within the belly of the Klingon beast as the G'bah impacted and detonated short of the mark.

"This isn't good." La Forge reported quickly. "I think the straw just broke the camel's back!"

A puzzling second later and victory became calamity.

* * *

A great blast erupted from the stomach of the gHin TAQ and propelled her into a spiral fall.

Directly in her path – Epsilon Ursae 6!

* * *

"Tractor beam!" Picard called in futility.

"Gone," said La Forge.

There was nothing any of them could do but watch. Watch and think of Data in there somewhere. And the planet…the pre-industrial population of an innocent world…

Their mission was becoming a successful disaster.

* * *

The flagship of the Klingon Empire burned up and ripped apart as she collided with the atmosphere of the planet and plunged through it. She shook apart – breaking in two – and smashed into the surface kicking up dirt and earth that could be seen from space.

* * *

Picard felt a sudden rush of all kinds of thoughts. They'd stopped the enemy from reaching Earth. That was good. But Data….

Was it a price he could live with paying? And now an entire civilisation could have been drastically rampaged by their own private war.

He dropped into his chair. "Bring us to a stop, Counsellor," he sighed.

Enterprise shuddered to an unsteady halt.

"Helm answers all stop." Deanna turned to Will and let out a considerable sigh of relief.

He smiled proudly back at her. Secretly he was just grateful she hadn't crashed this time.

Picard, however, didn't feel the ship safe enough to relax. "Damage report, Mr. Worf?"

The Klingon, releasing his grip on the fried panel, raised his head to the captain and answered him with one hairy eyebrow.

Picard nodded. Stupid question. Walking to Ops, he asked Riker: "Are we at least stable?"

His number one analysed the report before him. "Seems like she's settled down for now."

"We still have moderate external sensors," Geordi announced. "Scanning the surface…"

Martok, still at his rear workstation, reported that the few enemy shuttles were still operating and engaging their own fleet.

Darkness lived on. In what form, it was anyone's guess. But it left a degree of hope.

The captain looked to the 6th planet on the viewscreen. "Status?"

La Forge replied: "The land site seems to be a single land-mass… uninhabited by the indigenous humanoid population."

Another cause for hope. It may still be possible to protect the planet from irreparable interference.

"And the Rutherford, Geordi?"

"…Her sensors have taken severe damage. Possibly useless. No weapons…and she's got impulse, but the warp drive is offline."

"Can we open a channel?"

"Actually, …our comm is down," he admitted. "But we do have transporters."

"Very well," said Picard. "Launch a beacon – call in the escape pods. Ambassador," he turned to Worf, "prepare a ground operation."

He stepped to the turbolift… "It still works?" he asked, pointing to the doors.

When La Forge gave a nod, he entered. "I'm beaming to the Rutherford. I'll contact you from there. Geordi – you have the ship… what's left of it. It'll be your task to round up the strays. Number One – ready a landing force."

The doors to the lift closed and Picard was gone.


	32. FINAL BATTLE : Valley Of Death

**- Final Battle -**

**-Valley Of Death-**

_**32**_

The ravaged U.S.S. Enterprise, almost crippled and barely holding herself together, coasted in high orbit around Epsilon Ursae Six. Between her and her terrible enemy hung the planets' layer of charged plasma. The same substance that had aided them in their military operation now served as a hindrance, preventing them from simply beaming the Army of Darkness into the brig.

Commander William Riker had taken the shuttlecraft Feynman through the blanket of ionised gas in the atmosphere and, on the surface of that inhabited world, had set up a series of transporter pattern enhancers close to the crash site of the Klingon flagship. Working in conjunction with a series of relay probes, a limited transporter beam could be ferried through the thick cloud of interference and reach safely to the triangular point on the surface within the field created by the pattern enhancers.

In small groups, landing parties from the Enterprise and Rutherford began setting up a tactical base of operations for the combined ground-force mission:

Defeat, capture, or destroy the enemy threat and minimise or neutralise any damage to the natural development of planet Epsilon Ursae 6.

* * *

Now rescued from their shuttle, the interdimensional Sunnydale posse were finally reunited as a group onboard the Enterprise. Giles had been found in sickbay tending to all manor of war casualties. It gave a vivid vision of the true horrors of combat. Doctor Crusher had been so far beyond grateful to him that she'd even offered to prepare a Scottish broth in his honour at a more convenient time.

They also discovered the fate of their escape pod – having hit the atmospheric boundary of the 5th planet off-course, and burning up completely on entry. Xander had received hugs all-round from the girls for that one.

Buffy was personally thankful for the turn of events that had occurred. And moreover, she looked forward to finally setting foot on solid terrain to face a real enemy as the Slayer once again.

Indeed, things were truly taking shape and wheels were setting in motion. The whole effort rolled toward a final conclusion.

In Rupert's new quarters lay the recovered spell ingredients: A triangle of sand in a circle of 12 candles with a 13th candle in the very centre with incense and bloodied talisman.

The casting was set. In Buffy's place, Anya would take on the important role as anchor – keeping Willow's spirit tied to their reality.

They're own mission statement: To contact and bring forth the First Sorcerer – repeating the first cast spell out of all time and imprisoning the evil spirit of Darkness – the one named Rhamhal of the Pestihl'nhar. Son of the Dark Lord of the underworld – spawn of the Devil himself!

* * *

Soon enough, the final landing party made up of the remaining Klingon force was ready to beam down from the Enterprise.

The doors to the transporter room parted for Buffy and she entered dressed in her new combat uniform. Worf had replicated for her a Klingon warrior's grey and black battle-suit.

The black material hugged her form tightly and the grey armour offered her protection. Her hair now also tightly woven back into a single braid that was a perfect reflection of Worf's.

Spike – in his freshly replicated black coat – entered behind her carrying a small satchel.

They were faced with a large squad of blood-thirsty vengeful warriors. At the head of the group stood Worf and Chancellor Martok.

Buffy's heart had been racing at the thought of going to war. And the situation, coupled with the nature of the atmosphere created by the Klingons, gave her the feeling she was stepping into an ancient Samurai battle. Hands-on, in-the-thick-of-it, nowhere-to-run combat. But, on stepping into the transporter room, she would swear the Klingons were preparing for a night on the town.

The warriors were eager and angry… yet also in high spirits.

Buffy, however, still felt a chill. Something inside of her told her this was going to be like no fight she'd been part of before. There was something terribly sinister about this one.

She made her way across to Worf, swallowing the lump in her throat, and took the brown bag from Spike.

Martok stood tall in her presence. "The Great Warrior Slayer," he greeted. "Worf speaks highly of your abilities." He rubbed at the memory of a bruise on his face. "And, having experienced them myself, I look forward to going to battle with you."

"Uh-thanks," she uttered in response and gave the sack a shake. "Here – I brought some goodies for you to hand out to your friends."

The Chancellor leaned over the satchel and peered in with his good eye. "What are they?"

"Wiccan pouches." She reached into her collar and drew one out from her bosom. She held it out to them, pulling the string taught around her neck. "They're for protection," she explained, to which Martok scoffed. "Trust me," she went on, "you need it. It'll protect you against possession…and…if you die…it should keep you from coming back. So take them." She gave them all she had bar one. The one meant for Picard. He would lead the Alpha Team. Worf, Martok, and a few others nearby threw the pouches around their necks as Buffy tucked hers away.

The first pouch had needed a spell on the spot to work, and had worked only briefly. But, with the help of La Forge, Willow had improved them greatly. Now they were already active – glowing with a golden aura – and were expected to last a few hours.

"I have something for you in return," said Worf, presenting her with an ancient and glorious Klingon sword. "Gor'agh was son to a house of craftsmen," he informed her, speaking of his young aid that had been killed on the zombie-infested station. "His ancestors were the most skilled of swordsmiths. This… was his bat'leth." He flipped it in his hands so the blades were reaching skyward. "He wove it himself as Kahless did. You fought bravely at Sal Fusia six and brought honour to his name by slaying his killer. Gor'agh had no heirs to continue his house. I believe it would please him if you were to take this… and again bring honour to his name."

She flushed and almost dropped her jaw on the floor. "How can I accept this?"

"With two strong hands!" called out Martok. "And with the grip of a warrior!"

Worf thrust it into her palms… and she took it without further comment.

The handles seemed to be polished bone – wrapped in a material like leather. And parts of it were decorated with animal hide. It was far more ornate compared with Worf's simple tool. The blade of Gor'agh's bat'leth was far darker – and it looked like it had been formed using hair rather than metal – like the horns of a Rhino. But a quick test with her finger proved the blade to be exceptionally sharp. It was a beautiful piece of art more than it was a weapon.

"Thank you," she replied at last in awe.

"Could be worth a few bob," Spike chirped.

She shot him down with a glare, then focused on the demons. She explained to them how demons can be killed in a myriad of different ways and that the only sensible course was to, simply put, chop 'em up. "Hack, slash, whatever it takes," she said. "Just cut them up."

"Then, even if the buggers' don't die, they won't go far," added Spike, lurching suddenly as a heavyweight Klingon passed behind him awkwardly.

It was General Kuhl, merrily drinking from a goblet and rejoicing in the inevitable battle. The bloodwine in his grip holding a deadly secret.

Spike huffed. "Why's he so bleedin' happy?"

"He is singing an ode to his last great battle," Martok mused.

The vampire turned to view the General disapprovingly. "Well, that's a morbid ditty to be blastin' out at a time like this."

"The General is old," Worf explained. "His body has grown ill. He has fought gloriously many times but now his strength has faded. He will not live to see tomorrow."

"Then what's he playin' at? The old coot should stay up here and leave the fightin' to the young and strong."

"Where is the honour and glory in dying of frailty over long weak years?" Martok almost spat. "He will have a fitting end – as he deserves."

"Sounds like suicide to me."

"Then you know nothing of true Warrior Spirit, Vam-Pire!"

On hearing that, Kuhl whipped around to face them. "True Warrior Spirit?" Slurring somewhat, he seemed to focus his drunken words right toward Buffy. "To find your true spirit you must first learn who you are! … For a warrior, such as myself, BATTLE is the means by which we enrich our spirits and discover our nature!" At that, he cheered and turned his attention elsewhere.

She watched after him. Maybe he had something. Always she treated slaying like exercise. A workout. But, on failing to learn her true being from the Sorcerer…

Buffy wondered if this battle would be her chance to find herself.

_Death is your gift…_

Maybe her last chance.

* * *

"Commander?"

La Forge turned in the centre chair to face Lieutenant Daniels; back at his tactical post finally.

"The last escape pod is requesting permission to dock, sir," said the security chief.

Geordi examined the terminal on the arm of the captain's seat for a short time. "Give them the all-clear to moor at port fifteen, Lieutenant."

Daniels complied and gave his jaw a stretch. Still a little numb from the demon snot, he was glad to have speech again. Moreover, he considered, after the horror of the zombie station and the traders' planet skirmish that had gradually numbed every muscle in his lower face to the point of uselessness, he was glad to be alive at all. He noted some of the data before him. "Sensors are picking up some of the enemy shuttles still hovering around out there."

"Our closest shuttles?"

"The Solo and Nightingale," Daniels responded. "But they're tied up with another hostile."

"See if you can keep track of them. Signal the Solo and Nightingale soon as they're _un_tied."

"Aye, sir."

The engineer stood and glanced around at the many monitors around the bridge. He wasn't one for the captain's chair. He much preferred to be hands-on.

"Transporter room three reports the final landing party ready to beam," reported the security chief.

"Green light, Mr. Daniels," Geordi said, sitting back down. "Give them our best."

* * *

**A short time later, on the surface of Epsilon Ursae 6:**

A new world formed around Buffy as the transporter effect subsided and immediately the climate suffocated her. The heat and humidity were beyond description. She found herself among the Klingons in a dark and eerie alien jungle. A muddy land of patchy green and tall foliage in a clearing ringed by a thick forest of trees.

"Welcome to the boondocks," Spike remarked.

Buffy shuddered even in the heat. The place came straight from a nightmare.

And she felt something else… There were the whispers of dark thoughts in the air.

Nearby, the Starfleets' had prepared a makeshift military base. First they came by the Ops centre – amazingly to Buffy it was a simple tent as would be found in her own time. There they learned the results of their sensor equipment. The Army of Darkness had been picked up moving toward the planets' inhabitants. They would, however, have to cross a small ocean with strong tide to reach the landmass with native humanoid life. There was no way off this rock for Rhamhal without going through them first. But the thing that had most encouraged Captain Picard, she noted, was when a scan returned with the clear reading of something called a positronic signature. Apparently, that meant Data was intact and functioning. Buffy, on the other hand, found that less than encouraging. Data was too damn strong.

The second tent was a medical camp. They met Doctor Crusher again there as she managed the medical effort. The whole set-up brought on images of Vietnam.

Buffy moved on to explore her surroundings.

Soon, she came to find they were on a slight rise in the landscape around a vast plain over which hung a sickening dirty cloud of mist.

'_The Mists of Malice_' she recalled, as a vision flashed through her mind of the ancient battle shown to her by the First Sorcerer. And she wondered…

How much blood will the mists hide beneath them on this day?

The ground-fog grew thicker where the line of trees began. Trees tall and slim – much like bamboo trees, though darker and higher-reaching. A handful of them grew at an angle out of the embankment – their hanging foliage casting dull shadows in the low light over the sea of mist.

A dead mist.

Spike joined her to look out over the plain. In his hand, a Klingon double-spear. Bound by animal hide into the shaft of a splintered wooden staff two metres long, sat a pair of ornate serrated blades – each almost 2 feet in length – one bound to each end of the staff.

Nothing was said for a time and Buffy allowed her mind to wander beyond the trees.

Her thoughts drifted up over the dull sky to the Starship Enterprise. She considered her team up there. Anya, Willow and Giles. Thinking of Giles caused her to consider Doctor Crusher's dinner invitation again. And that thought brought her back to the medical camp close by. It seemed they were expecting heavy casualties. Buffy looked at the people around her – people who would likely die – and felt grateful Willow and the others weren't there.

Yet, beside her was Spike. Someone she never imagined fighting beside on judgement day. He stood on the rise, watching out with such focus that he didn't notice her staring at his face. She suddenly had the compelling desire to know what was going on in his head… What was motivating him in that instant? What had happened to his earlier protests against genocide? And, was he doing this just to be close to her?

She fancied she could poke a hole in his head right then with her mind and get the answers. But, then again, his mind was one place she didn't really want to go.

Picard and Riker came to them.

"Our scans indicate the enemy have turned back," the captain stated, remarkably including Buffy's group in the Op. "If possible, we'd like to lure them here to this flatland – out into the open."

She nodded approvingly then appealed to Spike: "Does he know we're here?"

The vampire winced. "He knows." He took a step forward, focusing beyond the far trees, and concentrated… "He needs to go through us to get back to Earth. He's comin'. They're all comin'." His teeth knitted together.

Picard made use of the information and ordered Riker to set his units out along the ridge. The men moved off to plot their tactics.

Buffy turned to Spike then with concern. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Peachy."

Before them, a short, steep incline seemed to be the easiest access point to the valley bellow. A Starfleet infantryman with his rifle in one hand and a tricorder in the other, moved slowly down the bank. His sensor device chirped and beeped.

"Beware of the plants here!" he called out over the rise. Carefully he moved closer into the patch of foliage and handled one if the branch stalks. The stalk disappeared into a mess of green and rich red leaves that reminded him of a rhubarb plant and, on the end of it, the stem formed a sharp, dark point with tiny stiff hairs along the tip. This point looked like it could easily pierce the skin and detach. He held it in front of his tricorder scanner. "The barbs are toxic!" He viewed his surroundings. "There are patches of them all around this site!"

It appeared to everyone that the landscape was becoming increasingly hostile. Never the less, an armed security SWAT team moved down toward the mist along with the Klingon group.

Buffy brushed her sweaty palms over her pants and followed them down. Spike moved with her. Yet, she halted at the base of the incline and observed the mist-covered ground before her feet with uncharacteristic trepidation.

The warriors about her did not, however – marching into the plain fearlessly.

But something held her back. A fear. The fear of her own future. Her destiny. Still she wondered if death would be her gift on this day. Then, looking up and around her one more time, she saw Xander perched high on the ridge with a rifle. A sudden panic rushed her. She had thought her friends were safe on the spaceships… now she realised one of them was here in this dangerous place… she had to get Xander away…

He gave her a thumb.

At that, a calm came over her suddenly… and she felt safe then… knowing he was there to cover her back… and she smiled up at him.

Worf stepped out before her and took a heavy breath of the thick air. "Today is a good day–"

"To WIN," she finished, marching forward and finding, beneath the mist, a marsh of soft, sludgy earth.

Worf seemed at first offended by the alteration she made to the time-old Klingon saying. But he readied himself and simply added: "That too."

Indeed, Xander had his own place on the ridge. He was part of a sniper unit circling the entire plain. Freeman had awarded him the temporary field position of non-commissioned Midshipman and given him a Starfleet uniform. A three-chevron pip graced the yellow neck of his shirt. Freeman wasn't far from him. Just a few metres away he lay in firing position beside beardy Riker – the leader of the sniper Op. Also scattered along the ridge he saw Vaun from the Rutherford. And Gataana – the big hairy one.

From his kneeling position, he soon became aware of Commander Riker's presence behind him as he circled his team.

Their eyes met for a moment. Long enough for Will to notice Xander's new beard. The Commander continued on, rubbing at his own chin self-consciously.

Xander grinned victorious – until–

The foliage far ahead on the other side of the clearing began to rustle with movement.

Riker gave the order to ready weapons and, looking back to Xander with a final stern gaze, he moved down the line to take his place by Freeman.

Xander quit gloating and dropped into position.

It was time.

* * *

Captain Jean-Luc Picard – uniform jacket removed; red polo unzipped, a hand-phaser holstered to his right hip and another device holstered to his left, joined the Alpha Team with a phaser rifle in his hands. He arrived next to Spike and checked his left utility pocket to confirm he had the device. Of everyone on the entire planet, only he knew what it was. And, looking over to Worf, he also eased his mind by confirming he carried the actuation device on his Klingon belt. But he had one more thing to carry, and it was the Summers girl who gave it to him. A pouch said to hold powers he truly couldn't grasp. He wore it, however, because who, at the end of the day, could say what was believable anymore? It didn't hurt to put her gift around his neck so that's just what he did.

He could hold the soft little glowing bag in one hand. It felt so delicate in his palm. Bringing it up to his nose he caught the wonderful aroma of nature itself. Such a calm and sweet thing it was. He dropped it to his chest, though, on hearing a mighty crack from beyond the trees ahead.

The enemy approached. His army was here.

Silence fell.

The mist came alive in the distance as something came out from the dark forest and into the valley plain.

The creatures had finally arrived… From Hell.

They seemed to appear as if ghosts – fading into view like apparitions. Hideous tortured things. Breed upon breed of demons, and Klingons – pale and withered. Their features seemed to have no flesh – like skin stretched too tightly over bones. Their eyes glazed and sightless.

Before all their horde was in view it was clear they were an army a thousand strong.

Buffy saw Spike pull his spear from the soil and grip it with both hands.

"Can't help but feel like we're facin' the day o' reckonin' here, Slayer," he said under his breath.

"We've had worse days," she muttered distantly.

"I'd say we've had better days too."

The movement ahead ceased and any doubt that their time was up had passed away.

Old General Kuhl could be heard by all as he rattled his bat'leth in the air and let out a deep guttural laugh.

Spike raised his spear and rammed it into the ground at his feet before making the wise choice to remove his heavy coat. He set it aside gently and gazed around as he reclaimed his weapon. "These crinkle-heads are really ready to go down in a blaze o' glory?"

"It's what they live for," Buffy replied.

"Live to die, is it? Well…good thing they've got a couple of Scoobs along."

He wasn't looking, but she shot him a glare at that moment. That he had the nerve and cheek to call himself part of the Scooby Gang!

"STEEL YOURSELVES! GLORY AWAITS US!" came a Klingon cry.

The blonde vampire turned to face her with a reserved glint in his eye and said: "That's our cue. Last one in's a rotten egg." He charged forth with his spear held like a lance in both hands.

The Klingons were moving and the Starfleets' went with them.

Buffy caught herself, took a breath, and went forward.

Running through the oil slick of mud beneath the mist proved difficult and distracting for her. All around the Klingons were roaring their battle-cry. As she approached the wall of death, the closer it drew, the more terrifying it became. But Buffy, ever defiant of evil, gained pace and quickly took the lead; feeling in her throat something crawling up from deep within her – growing intensely until her lungs burst open and a warrior's cry came bellowing from her mouth.

She hit the dead-wall roaring and the two sides met like a tide against rocks; kicking up a geyser of viscous sludge. They cut into one and other with the hacking and twisting of swords and spears, phasers igniting all about, serrated alien discs slicing through the air around them. Rocks too, and blades there were falling among them like missiles. Zombies and demons fell – decapitated, severed at the waist or legs. Many caught the lashing energy blasts from the Starfleet rifles and burned up as the line that divided the Federation from the Hellions quickly blurred. People also fell. Gutted. Slashed. Torn and ravaged by beast, or impaled by the serrated discs and other flying weapons. And all the time a swamp of dirt dragging at their feet.

Clawing Crawling Gnawing Choking Biting Drowning Burning Cloudy BLOOD

Dark Flowing Cascading Surrounding Filling Red Danger DEATH!

* * *

The Klingons fought with passion and the Starfleet infantry fired their weapons in a torrent.

Sniper-fire from the far-off hillock took out a pair of demons, leaving Worf faced with an undead minion of human origin. Faced with a thousand similar monstrosities, each having to be dealt with as swiftly as possible, the ambassador held his bat'leth in one hand and severed the zombie in half.

Martok fought beside him. On his back he had sheathed his ritual scimitar-style sword and, in his belt, the chancellor wore a Klingon disruptor. But he fought only with his ancient bat'leth – driving one tip through the neck and collar of a bastardised fellow warrior. There he twisted it sideways and sliced it loose, letting the creature's head tear away and vanish into the mob. When the remaining corpse had keeled and dropped out of sight, three more of its companions had been cleaved by Martok's sword.

Picard fired his rifle in all directions without pause. But, for every enemy he evaporated, two more stood in line behind. He made the risky choice to stop and set his phaser gun to automatic. Though the time lost was made up for when he opened fire again and saw a host of savage monsters turn gaseous as the barrage from his phaser beat the enemy down and made a pathway into their legions.

Spike went for the demons. The zombies were too easy. But he knew demons and they offered a challenge. If he was gonna get finished off here he wasn't gonna take the easy path.

Cutting the beasts down, the Slayer stormed into the enemy ranks like a hurricane whirlwind. Infused with a wealth of new combat knowledge and a passion to put it to use, she took her training in the Klingon Arts and fed it to the savage evil things. Worf had given her a greater understanding of large-scale warfare and his teachings imbued her with a heightened awareness of the activity around her. She flowed from each move into the next gracefully as if in a dance. And her soul lit up with fire.

Covering their rear, a battalion of brave Starfleet soldiers backed them up with their guns.

* * *

Through his scope, Xander saw as a handful of Hell-freaks filtered through to the squadron of infantrymen. Some of the men had their weapons snatched from them, leaving them defenceless from their attackers. As he watched the horrific slaughter, he grew ever thankful for his position of safety along the surrounding ridge.

Yet, so far, he hadn't fired a shot. When he looked through the sights he saw enemies everywhere within range but amongst them he also saw his own team. And he couldn't seem to get over his sudden fear of hitting one of them by mistake. Oops just wouldn't cover that kind of slip-up.

He steered away from the carnage he'd just witnessed and dropped the tip of his rifle down an inch. Beside him on both sides, weapons zapped loudly and rapidly.

He stopped the gun. His sights fixed on a familiar little blonde warrior. So many of the beasts before her and on both sides. What drew his attention was the pair sneaking behind her. It appeared that a cowardly demon was manoeuvring a zombie from behind. In the next instant, Buffy surprised him with the speed in which she spun, beheaded the undead pawn, and spun ahead again.

But she'd missed the crouching demon that sneaked behind it.

* * *

The Slayer sliced open the guts of the creature ahead and reeled at the blast of energy that erupted behind her. Spinning, she discovered a sharp bone inches from her back. Connected to it – the elbow of a demon in the throws of death. It gasped a horrible gurgling cry as it disintegrated and joined the mist.

She looked back to the far rise and her heart warmed. Somehow she knew it was Xander.

* * *

He knew she couldn't see him, but Xander could see her face clearly looking his way. He'd done it. His aim was perfect. Just like in all the simulations. He could hit exactly what he wanted… as long as it didn't move so fast. Pulling the gun tight into his shoulder, he gripped the trigger and zapped some baddies.

* * *

Doctor Crusher played nervously with her medical tricorder as she watched the battle from her high-ground position. She saw as many of their people fell injured in the boggy plain. Even if they could make it to the slope, it was unlikely they could navigate the steep rise to reach the medical centre. And the fit members of the unit were too overwhelmed to stop and ferry their fallen colleagues to safety. After biting her lip and watching a while longer, her medical ethic got the better of her. Beverly ran back to the camp and grabbed her field kit. She also grabbed a team with a bunch of gurneys and stretchers before taking her ward to the injured. A small sniper team broke off and covered them as they entered the terrible valley.

* * *

A penetrating scream filled the valley and rose up from it to the heavens as a human ripped open and fell away into the ground-fog.

Many cries followed it of men and of beast with each coming of death, as it constantly stamped out souls with its heavy hand.

Deep in the fray, the A-Team fought on.

With a fierce cramp in his side, Kuhl could barely swing his sword to defend himself. His path was proving too much to manage yet he remained steadfast and resolute and his bat'leth saw blood after blood of many a monster.

Spike identified a Znlg Demon swinging a mean looking scythe about and drew its attention. When it caught sight of him, recognition appeared to register across its upside-down face. "Spiiiike," it snarled and aimed the scythe at him. "Traiiiitor!" It moved in fast. "Betrayer of us aaaall!"

The vampire knew its weakness. Avoiding the blade, he struck it through the gut with one end of his spear – snapping it in half.

The demon's death grip cracked the scythe in two and Spike caught the blade end. When the monster toppled, Spike was left with both of the short weapons and an eagerness to abuse them. With his scythe and half-spear, he carved a way both bloody and fiercely through the sea of Hellbeasts. As did the Slayer until something unexpected occurred…

Buffy hit a patch of quick-mud and sank. The earth took hold of her by the feet and swallowed her up until everything below her waist was crushed under the heavy cement of the landscape.

The sword fell from her grip and she reached down in vain through the mist to push against the ground but all she found was a thick brown soup. Fearing the loss of her arms in the swamp and becoming defenceless, she tried to tear them back through the fog… but only one came free.

She slipped further until only her face and arm remained above the dirty mist. Horror struck her heart when the realisation hit her that she was doomed. She couldn't bare the thought of drowning. Not in this bog.

Then her salvation appeared over her: A hair-covered alien zombie rippling with inhuman muscle. It held in its iron grip a club no smaller than Buffy herself. A club with a great spike rammed through the end. It offered the promise of a quicker death. When it raised the massive cudgel to the sky, it was to impale and bludgeon her skull to mulch.

The heart in her chest froze. She couldn't breath anymore with the crushing force of the earth on her lungs.

_Death is your gift… _

She was tired of hearing that same line rolling around in her head. If she had a gift to give it seemed time to give closed her eyes.

The next sensation she had was hearing the sound of the heavy mallet impacting with a slap and something thick and wet splattering across her face. Something thick, wet, and cold.

Opening her eyes again, she saw the mace in front of her, half in the mud. Under it, her own hand gripped the spike tightly.

She'd caught it with her free arm! It appeared she wasn't ready to part with her gift quite yet. Something wasn't right. She didn't want to die. Not now. Not as long as she still had a chance to look Rhamhal in the eye while she shoved her foot down his throat.

Only now she was truly stuck.

The creature eyed her distastefully and tugged at his club. Nothing happened.

"Gonna have to try harder than that," she managed with her last wincing gasp.

It tilted its head at her. With a roar it took the weapon in both hands and tore it out of the ground. Still on the end of the club, Buffy tore out with it. She was free!

The zombie swung her through the air and hammered her back into the mud. The landing stunned her intensely and nothing within her could prevent the dead beast from lifting its weapon again and bringing the spike down into her chest.

Worf stepped in, kicked the mace aside and swung his bat'leth through the alien's neck.

The Slayer gasped in relief. She found her strength again and repaid Worf by taking out his legs. Surprised, the Klingon found himself in the dirt. He spat the sludge from his mouth and spun to see she was looking beyond him. Turning, he found there to be another of the zombie creatures hovering over him. A dead Klingon swinging a sword. He decided time for gratitude could come later as he took his own sword and buried it deep into the dead man's bowels. The zombie screamed before Worf ripped his bat'leth from its body and cut it off at the ankles. It collapsed, flailing to the ground, and Worf rammed one point of his sword into its chest – giving him support to stand while it was pinned. On his feet again, he removed his crescent sword from the creature, grasped its clothing, and flipped it over onto its chest. He took a hold of its armour, pulled it out of the low fog, took his bat'leth, and sliced the head away.

Clean job.

Buffy took the hand Worf offered her and let him pluck her up from the slime.

For the moment, the army around them paid them no attention. Worf paused enough for Buffy to recover her bat'leth, then both of them went looking for trouble.

Some distance away, Picard barked orders to his gunners. Some ceased fire, threw their rifles over their shoulders, drew back, and hurled explosive grenades far into the crowd of creatures.

Within moments, there came a loud pop and a fountain of dirt threw up with it blood and bodies. Seven more similar explosions went off. But there was an eighth grenade. That one came hurling back into the midst of the Starfleet ranks and blew with terrible results. The thick juice of the earth kicked up in a tidal wave that carried with it the remains of many Starfleet officers. The blast lifted Picard off his feet and pounded him into the soft soil before the tidal wave and all its debris came down and flattened him.

General Kuhl saw it all. "Ah! That was NOTHING!" He ran far ahead with as much haste as his body would allow. Already out of breath – the sword heavy to his arms like never before.

Exhausting the last of his energy, he buried himself deep into the enemy lines until he was hopelessly surrounded.

Old as he was, he knew that his strength was diminished. No longer the Klingon youth he remembered from years long since past. Surrounded on all sides by these foul creatures – many of which were the dishonoured remains of once-proud Klingon warriors – he would not be satisfied with freeing just one of them before his life was ended. He wished his final act to be one so bold as befitted a great warrior in great songs.

And, so, he bore forth the truth of his bloodwine from which he would allow no other to drink. For, within his tankard, had been more than Klingon wine. Mixed in with it had been a volatile chemical most used in Klingon explosives. Now swimming deadly in his stomach. A dark menace to rival that circling him. Soon the poisonous chemical would kill him. However, Kuhl meant to choose his own time and place of ending.

So, here it was that the stout and loved Klingon General removed the disruptor pistol from his belt and drew the point to his gut…

Klingon monsters closed in on him until their outstretched fingers brushed against his armour…

"May our brothers sing songs of this day for all eternity," he said. "I shall release you from your tormentor and join you all in STO-VO-KOR!"

His finger wrapped around the trigger…

"FOR HONOUR!"

Worf witnessed the massive explosion as Kuhl tore apart and the blast ripped up the earth.

* * *

( When Spike says 'It could be worth a few bob', he is using the British slang term 'bob' meaning an old English shilling – 5 pence. In other words: 5 percent of 1 Great British Pound.)


	33. FINAL BATTLE : Warriors

**- Final Battle -**

**-Warriors-**

_**33**_

Within the Enterprise all was fairly still.

In Giles' quarters especially there had fallen a peace and calm that had almost become mythical to them. His new and modest little room was ringed as before with 12 anointed purple candles, none of them lit. Candle 13 sat with Giles at one point of the triangle. At the head was Willow and, on either side of her, 2 containers lay into which they hoped to shepherd the Evil entity as in ancient times.

Anya made up the 3rd point and she scanned the altar before her intently. She'd been a demon once, but this was by no means in her field of experience.

Rupert took his small ignition device for the second time with a less shaky hand and leaned into the heart of the triangle to where a charcoal block rested inside a clamshell filled with sand.

Once again the point had arrived where there was no turning back.

"What exactly are we doing again?" Anya chirped nervously.

Giles paused and bit his lip.

"Well," replied Willow, "if things work out…I'll be crossing over."

At that, Rupert continued to burn the tablet until the charcoal sparked. He blew at it a little.

"Crossing over?" Anya considered. "That sounds… dangerous."

Giles took the salad of ground seeds and leaves and poured it over the charcoal with the myrrh. "Not so long as she has you as her anchor," he assured her, watching as the blessed goods fanned the flame of the tablet and smoke rose from the altar. "Let's begin."

* * *

Xander was having trouble pinpointing viable targets in the mess left behind from the big explosion. The two sides were truly mixed and the entire sniper unit had to take care in their aim. It turned out easier to go for the ugliest things.

* * *

Picard surfaced from the blasted muck with a gasp. Recovering his footing, he came to stand; coated in the slimy paste of the swamp. His ears still rang from the explosion of Kuhl and a dizzy bewilderment threatened to knock him back to the ground. He found himself now in an area of beaten sludge that surfaced above the filthy ground mist. All about him, remnants of the explosion protruded from the ooze. The remains of people… and things.

He also saw beside him the charred body of one of his infantrymen. 2 rifles still slung over his shoulder. It wasn't down to Kuhl, however, as was evident by the deep gash through his face.

Picard turned his own face away, sickened and bitter. His sight fell on the great skirmish all around him and his bitterness became anger. He'd led his men into a war like none he'd faced before. And the thing about war that troubled him most… was the level of casualties he could expect. The rising anger threatened to take him to an extreme place but, still, he was Jean-Luc Picard. Logic drove his madness.

The captain knelt by his dead officer and uncoupled the power cells from the 2 rifles strapped to his shoulders. Putting them aside, he put his own phaser against the man's body… and destroyed the remains.

The battle around him began to drift his way, so he quickly removed the strap from his rifle and tied the power cells together before strapping them to his phaser. Remembering Beverly and Daniels' report from the Sal Fusian science station, he set his weapon to overload and held it over his shoulder like a javelin. Aiming into the largest concentration of hostiles, he launched his rifle and pulled his hand-phaser out like an old Wild West gunslinger. Three attacking dead men vaporised and his javelin bomb exploded in the distance an instant before it hit the floor.

The blast mashed more than a hundred of the enemy militia into a steaming crater and sent the rest into chaos.

* * *

Worf recoiled as a Starfleet officer flew across his path with a scream. Turning to see the cause, he was faced with a shocking and fearsome sight. A great ogre of a thing, standing three times his height, overshadowed him. It considered the Klingon briefly and finally pounded its monstrous fists into the ground as a challenge. Worf actually stepped back from it, avoiding the swell of mud it sent out from the impact. Frozen, not with fear, but dazzled by the magnificent specimen before him, Worf watched its leathery nostrils flare out and gush a hot stream of bitter air.

Its body, built like the body of a Terran primate, was covered completely with an armour plated skin. And like one of those Earth Apes, the arms were long and out of proportion to the body and ended with fists so large, Worf believed the open palms could hide his entire body beneath. It was then he noticed the beast shaking frantically. Like him, it was not out of fear. The ogre trembled with building rage; the adrenaline pumping through it with such force it shook. The Klingon readied himself for the attack.

The behemoth snapped suddenly and tore his bat'leth away from him. Before he knew what happened, he saw the sword that, for 10 generations, had been with his house vanish into the distance.

He didn't get time to dwell on his loss. He rolled as a massive set of knuckles landed in his stead and leapt clear as they followed him and slapped into the soft earth in his wake.

Standing, he considered the possible means by which to retaliate, but instead he found himself brushed aside by the beast. It smashed him with a giant palm and the warrior lifted from the ground and flew.

He found a patch of gritty earth as he landed on his back and skidded. Digging his heels in, he came to a sheering halt and scrambled to his feet. The monstrous giant was coming at him fast. It covered so much ground at an unbelievable pace, surprising him just how far he'd been batted. It was almost on top of him when he reacted with an uncharacteristically unsporting move. Worf sunk his hand into the dirt and threw mud up into the ogre's eyes.

The demon reeled and stopped. It opened its thick eyelids to reveal eyes filled with dirty brown sludge.

Worf grinned. That had to sting.

A set of inner eyelids crossed over the beast's great eyes like curtains – brushing the dirt aside. The thing had built-in wipers!

Then the eyes narrowed and focused menacingly down at him.

Worf was in trouble.

The thing seemed unstoppable. It reminded him of a Klingon Krac'Nul. Deep in the lava caves of the mountainous regions of Q'onoS there lived colonies of bone-plated animals. Similar to the creature before him but not close to the size. And very few Klingons that ever faced the Krac'Nul triumphed. There were weak points, of course, where the plates met. Without a long blade, it seemed there were few points of weakness available to him on this occasion. The neck was the most obvious, but too high. Ankles…behind the knees…possibly the waist.

The beast let out a roar that brought thunder to the ground beneath Worf's feet. He reached behind his back and slipped out his mek'leth. The short 'h'-shaped sword wasn't too threatening to a monster of such size, but it was the best he had.

He ran, twisted onto his back and slipped under its legs – slicing his blade across one of the creature's ankles. When he drew himself up, the ogre spun on its strong legs to face him again. He glanced at his mek'leth to see the edge blunt and ragged. He cursed in Klingonese and reacted to a sudden zombie attack.

He managed to cut off the dead thing's clutching arm rather roughly with his dull blade and a second slice made a terrible mess of its face. Worf looked toward the advancing giant to see Martok step in and distract it. When it turned away from him, Worf identified a weak area. Right at the back of its skull, the big guy had a crack in its armour. It looked like an old fracture.

The zombie came for him again.

* * *

Martok lurched as the enormous Demon clamped his bat'leth with one giant bone-encased hand and crumpled it like paper. It ripped the weapon from his grip and sent him soaring with one swipe.

* * *

Worf saw an opening. He dragged his zombie around to face the back of the behemoth and shoved it toward the larger creature.

The ogre roared again and slammed its heavy fists into the ground. Any moment it would turn to finish Worf.

The ambassador paused not for a second. Running, he vaulted onto the zombie, slicing open its head as he went. Leaping from its shoulder, he flew up with his mek'leth raised and came down onto the monster's back – piercing through the fractured armour with the point of his blade, he dug it deep into the skull of the giant beast.

The ogre gurgled a little before both of them crashed to the muddy floor. The mist around was sent up into the air along with slime as the impact sent Worf rolling away.

He resurfaced quickly and escaped from the filthy cloud, looking for a sign that Martok was alive.

About 50 earth metres away he saw the chancellor warily regaining his feet. He also saw a sword-wielding monster behind him raising its pointed weapon to strike Martok down.

* * *

The chancellor knew nothing until he heard the sound of a blade cutting into flesh behind him. Martok spun to see Worf's mek'leth embedded in the chest of a large horned being. He gave Worf a nod, unsheathed his scimitar and drew out his pistol. Vaporising the demon, he pushed forward – hacking and disintegrating everything in his path. Hack zap slash bang.

* * *

Worf had his own troubles from then as he fought on with only his d'k tahg knife.

* * *

Five demons rushed Spike. Hurling both his short scythe and half-spear, he dropped the first two. The others he met hand to hand. He spun and caught the chin of one with his heel, dropped and took the legs from another. He brought a roundhouse up to beat the next with. He fought them but soon began to struggle. Though he managed after some difficulty to bring the Bura Demon to it's knees and snap it's neck, he hadn't the tools about him to finish the others. Yet he fought them. He fought them until sniper fire rained down into the crowd around him. The demons dispersed a little to avoid the lasers and Spike found himself dodging the fatal energy beams along with them. Again, the Starfreaks had denied his humanity and given him up to die with the beasts of hell.

He moved quickly to avoid being laser-dusted only for something to leap onto his back. He rolled forward and came up to see a Gobbler Demon picking itself up from the thick marsh. Spike knew little of the species but he did know it was a harmless puppy-eater. It attacked him again. Remembering his little speech about genocide and how some demons were no real threat, he greeted the Gobbler with a fist to the face that knocked its lights clean out. Then an energy beam burned into the wet soil and almost took Spike's foot off.

The vampire ran through the fire to the edge of the evil horde and dived into the air to freedom; a phaser blast passing close enough he felt the searing heat against his flesh.

* * *

Far above the valley and the clouds over it, the clashing and the shooting and the screaming rang like a song of war in the skies.

* * *

Life, for Buffy, had been pain. Even in times of joy there were always the underlying questions that made life so hard for her to bear. Why am I here? What is my purpose? Should I have friends? Do I deserve them? Will I get them killed one day? Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I feel connected to the world? To people? To life? Why are relationships so difficult? Why does it all hurt so much? Why do my emotions pierce my every waking moment like thorns? … Who am I?

They all fell away. Every question. Every pain. Every emotion. The bat'leth she wielded was no longer held by her. It was part of her. As she fought with speed and clarity beyond anything she'd ever experienced against an enemy numbering greater than any she's faced, her pain and struggle had become inner peace. No encounter she'd ever had was as overwhelming as this one and no encounter had ever felt so right. This was her calling. It was for war she was created. Great and glorious battles of ultimate intensity. She wasn't a pest controller. She wasn't built and placed in the universe to kill bugs one at a time without purpose. She was built for this very thing. For days like this day. She was the Slayer. She was… a WARRIOR!

Everything became so perfectly clear. She could feel. At last she could feel without pain.

She felt her spirit, like a phoenix rising from the fires within her, and it was euphoric!

Then, a giant animal swooped down from the sky and took a demon from right in front of her.

The Slayer gasped as she witnessed a flock of winged creatures attack the battlefield, picking off members of both forces. Drawn to the noise, the native birds came out of the skies. They were massive in size and leathery like winged crocodiles with the feathered forelimbs and hind legs of eagles – like some kind of pre-historic or mythical earth creatures.

* * *

Spike, having regained his feet, also dropped his jaw at the sight of the flying beasts. He figured it made sense. The last thing they wanted was to run out of things trying to kill them.

He watched one of them very intently as it drew closer to the valley. It passed over the tall trees beating its wings effortlessly; its feet curled up to the belly.

With a sharp reflex, he snapped his forearm back to block an attack. He floored the Hellion and spun back to see the winged lizard with its legs and feet outstretched. It was coming… for him!

Spike, ever the gentleman hero, grabbed the nearest brain-muncher and offered it up to the winged beasty. It took the bait and flew onward. Spike watched the witless zombie flapping about in the sharp talons of the airborne animal and chuckled to himself. The realisation that he had gloated a little too much came to him quickly as it occurred to him that the attack had scattered everyone and everything around him and that now he was alone in a small open area. He heard a piercing screech from the sky behind him. Spike managed half a turn before another raptor swooped in and carried him off.

The land fell away from him suddenly and he growled as the animal's nails dug deeper into the meat of his shoulders. He struggled in its grip without effect. The thing was strong. But the land below was now thick with trees and falling further away and the clouds above grew near. "Oh…bloody hell!" He was getting too high for comfort.

The vampire freed the demon within and wasted no time in biting into the leg of the bird. It screamed wildly and released him. For a fraction of a second he congratulated himself…

Then he dropped from the sky and slammed through the jungle canopy.

* * *

Riker barked the order for a group of his gunners to use a low phaser setting to deter these new flying creatures. The last thing they wanted to do was to damage the natural balance of this world any more than they had already. Some of the men did this and turned their phasers skyward – stinging the raptors with belly shots and turning them away from the valley.

Harris spotted one of the birds making a dive toward the warriors below. He locked the animal in his sights, though it moved so quickly, and fired. The blast from his rifle engulfed the winged menace and took it apart until all that remained was air.

"Yes!" he called out, and turned to the nearest man. "Did you see that? What a shot!"

The whole sniper team was looking at him blankly. And Riker was eyeing him quite severely. The man looked pissed. Then Xander saw Freeman, with a sympathetic expression, simply shaking his head.

Oops.

He went back to shooting the deadies, leaving the birds to the other guys.

* * *

Martok cut off grasping arms with his sword and vaporised those on the end of them with his Klingon disruptor. He scanned overhead for birds before he fired the pistol twice more then reacted to something out the corner of his eye. His scimitar met with another blade. Turning, he saw there was a being that looked almost human, but with 2 blades for arms.

"Try cutting _my_ arms off you pathetic mortal!"

The chancellor brought his gun around but the demon deflected the hand with a metallic arm. They swung at each other over and over until their blades clashed.

Sword-arms proved too quick for Martok and highly skilled. It trapped his sword between its arms and snatched it from his hand. Again he tried to shoot it down. When it made to cut away his wrist, Martok pulled away and cracked his foot into the thing's kneecap. It fell to its blades and knees and the Klingon trapped the being's left arm under foot.

The demon prepared for the kill and drew back his other arm…

And the Slayer caught it between the points of her bat'leth. With one sudden and elegant motion she sliced the arm of at the meaty shoulder.

The demon roared in agony and bled orange from its wound.

Martok holstered his gun. The Slayer knew this was his enemy. He was the one who should finish it. She hooked her toes under the severed limb and kicked it up into the Klingon's hands.

Pointy-fingers tried to stand and face them until the chancellor used its right arm to cut off its left. The demon stifled a scream and knelt in submission.

"Seems that you are 'armless after all," Martok said mockingly.

The demon grimaced. "That sucks, man."

Chancellor Martok stabbed the hostile's limb through its chest and reclaimed his scimitar. He thanked the Slayer for the hand before parting company once again.

* * *

Picard dropped to the floor as a flying beast passed over him. From there he destroyed a number of enemies with his hand phaser before lifting himself up. When he stood, however, not all his parts followed. His foot was stuck. Looking to it, a hollow-faced dead man surfaced from the mist and pulled his leg into the earth. The captain fell again and cursed as his face went into the thick cement of the muddy ground. He could feel his whole leg disappearing under the surface and he twisted around, bringing his phaser to bear at the monster's head. With its other hand the zombie caught Picard's wrist and bent it back until the gun pointed to the open sky.

Captain Picard struggled against pain but didn't give up. He kicked the creature hard in the head until its head collapsed and the brain that gave it life oozed out from its broken skull. His limbs were free. He dragged his leg out from the heavy paste and turned what was left of the abomination into vapour.

* * *

Lieutenant Boone – rifle dug into his shoulder, knees bent and walking, one eye fixed through the sights – searched for targets. Not many of the enemy fighters remained around him and the mist had risen in places with the warring. He located Ambassador Worf and identified the small group of hostile creatures circling him. Boone approached, firing rapidly. He killed 3 of them before he'd drawn their attention. One came from the mist beside him. He smashed its jaw with his rifle butt and again took to firing at will.

* * *

Worf heard the phaser fire as he battled. Dead people surrounded him and he didn't have a second to pause as he used his Klingon dagger to slice away their reaching fingers. Slipping under the flailing limbs, he cut deep wounds into their bodies and stabbed into their backs and necks. It didn't kill them but kept them at bay. It was enough for a time until Boone took them down.

A few metres away, the ambassador saw a demonic creature carrying a Klingon spear. It was waiting for him. Around him, Worf could see a number of prone bodies with the spears of warriors protruding from them. So he went to a nearby headless corpse and ripped from it a Klingon lance for himself.

The hairy, horned savage lifted its pointed wood and walked toward him. But Worf didn't. He ran.

The demon took his lead and they galloped at each other like a pair of jousting knights.

Their tips passed. Worf put out a hand. One spear met flesh.

Worf roared as he thrust the sharp end of his stick deep into the gut of the monster. In his other hand he'd caught the end of the other lance. The demon dropped.

Ambassador Worf took both spears in his hands and braced himself against the land. He forced himself to stand upright; fighting the breathlessness that had finally caught up with him. Looking around he saw for the first time that nothing was coming at him.

* * *

The winged raptors, it seemed, had all been scared off and the Alpha Team found themselves having to go find bad guys to kill as there were now large open spaces throughout the valley. Some areas had such a number of severed bodies that mounds of them sat higher than the mists. It reminded the Slayer of that first day when she'd seen the Klingon battle program in the holograph room. She didn't have to walk far to find some of the others. Captain Picard, Worf, Martok and some of the surviving Klingons and remaining Starfleet infantry.

Some of the faces she remembered from earlier were there and some were not. But it wasn't until Spike drifted out of the mist that she realised he hadn't been there.

The vampire limped over and joined them mumbling profanities and something about flying and trekking through the jungle. His platinum hair sat dishevelled on his head and his black clothes and skin were torn and scratched in places. He rested his hands on his thighs and inspected their surroundings. Not many of the dark army were within sight and those that were began to join together to form a single unit. That army was behind – in the direction they had come from.

"We got a clear path ahead," Spike reported, looking towards the trees. Beyond, he felt the presence of Darkness.

Picard asked that Martok stay in the valley with his Klingon group and the infantry to finish off the army there. Martok gladly took the job and Boone organised the men into attack formation.

"Ambassador," Picard said to Worf as an invitation to join him. "Miss Summers. Perhaps you'd like to lead the way?"

Buffy turned to the vampire.

"Right. That'd be my job." Spike brushed his hair back and straightened up. "Let's finish this, eh?"

* * *

Xander, up in his firing position, watched through the scope of his gun. The A-Team had broken off and were moving to the line of distant bamboo trees. Spike was leading them into the lion's den.

He watched Buffy entering the jungle with the captain and her Cling-on friend. He also noted that she had her big crescent sword and that the big guy had 2 spears with him. But only the captain went in with a laser gun. A small handgun at that.

The mission – their entire operation and the future of everything – depended on the success and survival of that team. He knew they could handle themselves. He'd seen enough in the last bunch of minutes to know that. But he didn't like the fact they had just the one gun. It felt wrong somehow to him on some instinctual level.

Riker gave orders to his men until he heard the Harris boy say something. He turned to see the outsider standing poised on the crest of the ridge. "What?" he called back.

"I have to go," he said again. "The A-Team might need back-up in there."

He'd got Freeman's attention with that.

Riker shook his head. "The unit stays together, Harris. We haven't won anything yet. Take your post."

"I'm not asking."

Riker did a double take. He couldn't believe–

It was too late. The boy was already bounding down the slope and into the plain.

Will turned to Captain Freeman hoping for a similar reaction.

But Dave had seen something in Xander's insane courage. He confiscated a second rifle to go with his own and the hand phaser in his belt and gave Riker a wink. "Cover us, Commander." With that, he went chasing after the soldier boy.

Xander fired at any of the demons and zombie freaks that were in his direct path as he ran into the Army of Darkness to reach his Slayer.

Behind him, Freeman followed with his two rifles raised; picking off anything that came up on Xander's rear.

Up on the hillock, Will Riker yelled new orders to his team and many of them turned their attention to helping keep the journey of the two former snipers as smooth as possible.

Riker had to admit… the boy was brave.

He picked up his rifle, knelt on the edge of the rise, and gave Xander some cover fire.

* * *

Out of the valley plains, the trees – like big dark bamboo – were densely clustered.

Spike tested the air with his senses and pointed a finger forward. "That way. The bastard's that way."

"I know you don't want to go in there," said the Slayer, "but… I really need you to, Spike. I can't have a hope to win without you backing me. You have strength over him. I need that strength with me."

Spike smiled at that. It almost…warmed his heart. Almost touched him in a soft fuzzy place. Mostly it just stirred his loins. "We gonna chat all evenin' or go kick some hell-spawn arse?"

She smiled back and moved off toward their enemy. Picard passed him and the Klingon began to before stopping and handing Spike one of his spears.

"You may need this," Worf remarked.

Spike took the weapon gratefully and set his pain and concern aside. Heading forward, he led them through the jungle and began the hunt.


	34. FINAL BATTLE : Rhamhal

**- Final Battle -**

**-Rhamhal-**

_**34**_

Rupert rolled up his left sleeve to bare the mark of Eyghon tattoo on his bicep and began to call upon the keepers of the Nether-realm: "We are here to make contact with the realm of spirit. That place which lies between here and the hereafter."

He inscribed with the Klingon dagger the word SPIRIT into his13th violet candle, and lit it with the burning incense. He placed it perfectly in the centre of their triangle with the other ingredients. Removing the blood-soaked talisman, Giles printed the red symbol over his existing tattoo. He discarded the talisman onto the charcoal tablet – dampening the fragrant flame and releasing the smell of burning flesh and blood.

He then proceeded to say: "Here do I light the first lamp of _Spirit_. … May its light reach out across the barriers from this world to the next."

There came a silence, as Rupert seemed to wait for a sign of some form. His face began to show the first spark of defeat when, in an instant, a burning white brightness encompassed the room suddenly as the 12 candles circling the room spontaneously ignited.

He nodded to Willow and she continued from there. "May it make contact with that world of _Spirit_; unto which I will enter."

She reached over and took the SPIRIT candle in unsteady hands. "Illuminate the passageway between our worlds that our spirit-guide may come to us and speak with us today."

She handed back the candle.

"Are you ready?" Giles asked to be sure.

Will shrugged and closed her eyes; reaching out to take Anya's hand. "Merge," she invited. "Bring us together."

Their hands met with a sudden surge of energy that stiffened the witch up and she spewed forth a volley of ancient sounds: "Suo suere sui sutum …biiugis catenatus coagmento!"

The candles exploded and the whole room vanished in a whiteout.

* * *

**Somewhere on the planet surface:**

The Alpha Team passed out of the wild woods and down a small slope that led them into a clearing. At their feet lay the same ground fog of the valley plain but under it they found a soft but solid heath.

The team hovered around one end of the small hollow and surveyed their surroundings meticulously. They were standing in a circular patch of land about 40 metres across completely fenced off by a ring of trees. Beyond those the jungle stretched out. Only one cluster of large rocks broke the line of bamboo and led to a place unknown. Overhead, dark clouds blocked out the sky and settled a dirty dusk over the land.

Picard drifted back to the group somewhat impatiently. "I see no sign of Data."

Spike felt like spitting. He could taste the sour presence of their target. "He's here."

Tensing, the Slayer gripped her bat'leth tightly.

"Where?" Worf scanned the glade.

"Right here!"

They all wheeled around.

The android appeared from the dark forest and strolled into the far side of the clearing incuriously. His face, still torn from eye to jaw, was now burned a little too and the rags he wore seemed more ragged than before.

"Data?" Captain Picard stepped forward with a flush of hope and relief.

"Yes, Captain."

"Are you alright, Data?"

Spike took hold of the captain's arm and halted him. "That's not yer android, mate."

"I _am_ a little hungry, Captain," replied Data with a hint of playful deceit. "But it's nothing swallowing your soul won't cure."

Picard's hope faded. "I see." He physically sagged, but he did step closer cautiously. "Can Data hear me? May I speak with him?"

The android smiled, opening the tear in his cheek and revealing his inner workings. "Oh, he can hear you. He can see, hear, and feel _everything_. It's like sharing a room with a whining infant."

Data inclined his head to Buffy. "Slayer! We meet again. Small universe."

"You're just full of the old clichés," she responded with complete disdain. "See this," she went on, digging the gold-lit pouch out from her collar. "This means you can't touch me." She prayed the robot couldn't pick up on her false conviction. "My soul's protected. And look around… we ALL have them."

Data put a hand to his mouth and performed an exaggerated yawn. "You're just full of sh-t, Little Miss Slay-a-lot. I'd never be desperate enough to possess any one of you even if those pouches could stop me! You pitiful little fool."

Picard interjected quickly in an attempt to pull the situation together. One thing he could say about the Slayer; her negotiation skills were appalling. He had to bring the confrontation under a measure of control. "I'm sure that if we can remain calm and approach each other maturely and with respect, we can prevent any further escalation of our problems and help each other find an amicable resolution." He took another step forward and Worf followed him. "With a little compromise we can help each other. Will you allow me to speak to Data? Just for a moment?"

The android closed his yellow eyes and took an unnecessary calming breath. When his eyes opened again it was with menace. As once before they revealed a depth of nothing. A pair of black holes set in Data's distorted face. "I allow you only to die, Picard." He whipped something from his belt and sent it tearing across the glen.

Worf reacted suddenly to the machine's swift reflexes – shoving his captain to the ground. The small object, no doubt sharp and deadly, zipped by them and buried into a tree.

Dark Data stepped aside as Worf's Klingon spear dug into the dirt by his feet like a giant splinter.

Captain Picard, winded, picked himself up from the grass.

Data moved closer, passing the tall stick of wood, with a smile spread over his mangled face. "I have foreseen your fate and I shall bring such vengeance and wrath upon your worlds that your very souls will quake and tremble with drea–"

"'Scuse me," Buffy cut in, "I've heard this crap a million times… Can we just skip to the part where you die?"

"Oh, Slayer. …I will drag you to the depths of Hell myself and drown you in eternal torment–"

"Hey!" Spike called. "You heard the lady – time to put up or shut up."

Data huffed. "Times _have_ changed. Fine. I'll kill you quick!" He ran, snatching up a rock from the ground.

Worf drew out his actuation device to shut him down – but the stone smacked into his hand, knocking the device from his grasp and up into the mound of rocks.

Spike charged with his spear.

Slipping back to the trees, Data tore one down onto the vampire and crushed him.

Buffy attacked only to find her throat in the evil android's deathly grip.

"I went easy on you before," he snarled at her. "Not anymore!" Raising her up by her throat, he cracked his head into her face.

The Slayer's head rolled back and bled. He dispensed with her and she dropped like a sack of dead bones.

Dark Data clocked Worf scrambling relentlessly up the rocks to reach the actuation device. It couldn't stop him but it _could_ slow him down. Unless it had been modified. Which meant, if the Klingon managed to use it, it might yet cause damage. He couldn't afford to let that happen.

Darkness set the android moving. He snatched the spear free from the earth and fired it at Worf.

The ambassador heard the weapon slicing through the air. He turned and put out both arms – catching the shaft in his hands. The wood cut into him and the point of the spear stopped against his face.

Worf lowered the weapon and felt at the small cut on his cheek with one burning hand. He was left staggered by the escape.

Picard circled around Data. Knowing he was physically no match by far, he tried to divert him a little and appeal to any sense of reason that might be in him. "Perhaps we might talk a little?"

"You have nothing I want and I'm not interested in your negotiation efforts. To my eyes you're just another human who isn't dead yet."

"You have a name," he continued regardless. "Rhamhal. Is that who you are?"

The android faltered. Clearly the entity within him was disturbed by Picard's comment. "How did you come by that name?" he demanded.

Worf recovered the moment he saw his captain trying to face the powerful machine alone. He used the spear to reach the actuation device – knocking it from the rocks into the clearing for Picard. It disappeared into the mist there.

The captain feigned its importance and ran to where it fell.

Data followed – until the Slayer blocked his route. Spike appeared also beside him and the Klingon too leapt down from the crag to face him. None of them looked particularly welcoming.

Picard stopped running. Data was distracted. It was the perfect opportunity to strike with the true weapon. He reached into his left holster… and found it empty.

He'd lost the weapon. Lost it in the mist somewhere. Maybe when Worf knocked him to the ground. He retraced his steps, feeling under the vapour with his feet.

The Slayer, the Klingon and the vampire faced their maniacal mechanical opponent and didn't spare a thought before striking.

But Data scattered them to the wind.

Spike leapt in first and tried to tackle the android at the waist. Data spun the bloodsucker and threw him into Worf – knocking them down. He turned quickly and palmed the Slayer in her nose – flooring her with the pain. Reaching down, he seized Spike's feet and swung him into the air.

Spike found himself crashing spine-first into a tree. He tumbled and hit the ground, losing all awareness.

Worf grappled him from behind – pinning his arms at his sides.

Allowing his feet to leave the ground, Data fell back and crushed Worf into the earth. He then smashed an elbow hard into Worf's head before rolling off of him.

The android stopped there a moment, finding an object hiding under the mist. He collected it and regained his feet.

The Slayer had regained hers also and she swung at him with her bat'leth.

He caught it with his free hand – which cut open and sparked. He tugged and flung her up into the heavens. She flew up with the sword in her hand and, as she plummeted back to earth, he kicked her.

Buffy was sent crashing into the rocks and disappeared over the far side.

* * *

Crusher knelt in the valley over the corpse of an officer and slowly removed the phaser pistol from her belt. She'd tried to restart his Munarian hearts but hadn't the tools present to initiate both at once. The Munarian race possessed a bizarre and unique physiology that often proved difficult to repair. It gave her little comfort when she held the gun. It was a terrible thing for a physician to have an energy weapon as part of her surgical kit.

Something approached them from the east, hissing and snarling, one limb hanging from its shoulder by a single tendon. Their sentry raised his rifle and shot the abomination down without pause.

"Doctor?"

Beverly regarded Nurse Bennett. "Check the PMP list. I think Ensign Uo is on there."

The young medic looked through the post-mortem procedures list in her small PADD. "Yes. Ensign Uo's people require his body to complete his circle of life ritual."

She replaced her weapon. "Remove the head," the doctor instructed woefully. "Bag him up and store the remains at the camp."

* * *

White light faded away and, when Giles and Anya's eyes had readjusted once again, they saw that Willow had changed. Her fiery red hair was now black and streaked with grey.

Anya, still holding the witch's hand, panicked somewhat. "Willow?" Then she saw her eyes were also changed. They were large, black, and filled with dark magic.

"It isn't Willow anymore," Giles called across to her. "It's the First Sorcerer." He turned his attention then to the spirit within Willow. "Um...hello?"

"Hi," came the reply. "You're late. I was expecting you sooner."

Rupert mumbled incoherently for a second before finishing: "Well…Let's get on, shall we?"

"HARK!" the Sorcerer bid loudly. "Thou shalt hear my words and heed their command! For I am Zjahar – son to Lucifer, and son of Eden! I that cast this first spell shall cast it again as my last!" – There came a ripple of the air throughout the room – "Ego ipse imperium concipio nassa cassesium!"

* * *

Captain Picard searched the floor of the glade frantically for his weapon but at his feet there was only mist. The grassy terrain was hidden from him.

"Is this what you seek, Jean-Luc?" Data appeared holding in his hand Worf's actuation device.

He stopped his obvious searching reluctantly and stood down before his enemy.

"You're phaser, Captain. I don't think you wish to use that on your precious Mr. Data. I'm sure Starfleet told you to kill him if you must. But we both know that you're not going to do that."

Picard removed the phaser from his belt and threw it down as indicated.

The being controlling Data's body raised one of his legs and crushed the weapon underfoot.

Picard gave the impression he was caught, but secretly he was still feeling the land with a foot.

"What shall be the most fitting way of terminating the existence of Captain Jean-Luc Picard?" Dark Data mused. "Because I _am_ going to kill you. I shall toy with you until your bleeding and your breaking becomes tiresome to me. It's the least you deserve after the lack of respect you've paid towards me."

"If that is the penance I face for stopping one as depraved and maniacal as you… I welcome it." Picard couldn't get any more range with his feet. But he knew what he sought had to be around that spot. Looking down, he saw an opening in the mist. There, resting fortuitously in a clump of turf, he saw it.

The demonic parasite howled with laughter through Data's face. "Stopped me? I'm not going to kill you because you brought my depraved, maniacal scheme crashing to a fiery end. You _can't_ stop me, you see, Jean-Luc. I am a formless, immortal spirit. I can't be killed. I can't be stopped forever. Every effort you have made, every life you have sacrificed today to this noble cause of yours… has been for nothing. All you have accomplished is to slow me down for a fraction of time. And, for that, you will die painfully."

Picard dropped slowly to his knees.

"Oh, Captain," Data marvelled. "Don't beg for your life. What am I saying? I _know_ you! You'd never beg, would you? Is this your way of accepting your fate with grace?" Suddenly he twitched. He felt something. A presence. Something wasn't right. He looked around and saw no one. Yet he felt the effects of something…

Darkness looked to the sky above. He knew what he could feel. He'd felt it before.

It was the spell.

It was his brother.

Picard lowered a hand to the ground and gripped the virus-gun secretly. "I wouldn't say so." With that, Picard aimed the weapon at Data and fired a tag into his chest.

From the woods, Buffy returned with her bat'leth, checking her pouch for safety. She saw the gun in Picard's hand and watched as the android brushed away some kind of electro-tag. But she didn't know what was happening.

Darkness let out an amused huff. "What was _that_ meant to do, Cap–?" The android cut off and began to spasm. "Zzzzzzzz-zz-zz….za… za za."

Data's entire mechanical frame went stiff and toppled back like a lead statue.

Every wound-up muscle in Picard's body finally relaxed. But there was no joy in what he'd done. He may as well have vaporised his friend.

Worf approached cautiously, circling the fallen android. His heavy brow furrowed at the sight of the prone body.

"He's dead." Picard got to his feet and stood over his second officer. "Every memory engram…every personality protocol… every part of who he is… may be irreparably lost."

"A computer virus," Worf concluded with a heavy heart and walked away.

Buffy could see their pain but she moved a few feet closer to be sure the psycho-bot was immobilised. Even with the android down and their pouches protecting them, Darkness still remained in some fashion without form. "Let's hope the spell works before–"

Data twitched.

Input polarisers fired up and initialised his reload circuits as the viral program attempted to reconstruct his personality matrix.

Picard and Buffy withdrew at once. Worf halted only metres away and turned back to see the android rising to his feet.

He didn't move. For a long time he didn't speak. Just regarded them with his large yellow eyes.

Buffy clasped her bat'leth with both hands.

The yellow tin man parted his lips. "…Captain… I am… malfunction…" With that he seemed to go blank and seize up.

It was Data. The true Data!

Buffy's mind exploded with a million thoughts all at once.

Willow's spell hadn't taken effect yet. She wasn't certain they could even pull it off. Darkness was airborne and at any moment it would return to the only soul-bearing body within reach – Data's. The super-human android with the strength to crush even her. And that was without the evil bloodlust of Darkness.

She realised she had no time. She could not allow Darkness to take Data again. He was too strong to beat. But a human… a human was still only flesh.

One fact gave her pause. Humans could not survive possession. When Darkness discards the body of a person, the process withers the host to a lifeless prune.

But, above all these other thoughts, one rang clearer and louder than any:

Death is my gift

Buffy fancied she saw a movement in the air – a ghostly apparition drifting across to Data's frozen form – and she finally thought she understood. All she had learned from Worf… The price she had to pay for the knowledge to defeat Evil…'_Death will be my gift_' It all made sense now. She was the Slayer and the fight was with her and Darkness. She had to face him herself in whatever way she could. Even if she had to sacrifice herself to do it.

Buffy tore the protective pouch from around her neck and, without further hesitation, sent it smashing into Data's chest where it ruptured – covering his torso with its glowing contents.

Worf observed this. He didn't truly comprehend the consequences of the action, yet he knew the pouches served as a vital protection against the parasite. He ran towards her swiftly, reaching for his own pouch. But, before he could remove it and throw it to her, he realised the chance had passed.

The Slayer's arms flung back and she dropped the sword, staggering as if hit by some unseen force.

Worf retrieved his spear.

Captain Picard moved around the girl with suspicious eyes. Her head hung low and her face sat veiled by hair. Nearby, Data stood immobile like some disturbing waxwork figure.

The Slayer's hands formed fists of pure steel and she craned her neck to face them.

Her face bore a frightening smile. Her eyes black as tar.

Buffy was gone.

* * *

The white light drew back and faded, revealing to Willow a beautifully vibrant landscape.

She seemed to be alone in that glorious place until her eyes set upon a figure waiting nearby. The female stood gracefully on a small wooden bowed bridge that arced over a modest crystal river.

Willow moved herself closer to the figure, marvelling at her surroundings. The colours and the sounds were so vivid and alive and the air felt so warm and brought sparkling tingles to the skin.

She recognised the girl on the bridge before she reached there. It was Tara. Visually at least. Garbed still in her radiant white gown with a glow that seemed to emanate from within.

"You're the Goddess, aren't you?" she asked as she stepped onto the overpass. "The Mother of Wicca?"

"I am the spirit whom guards over Nature and Earth," she confirmed in her angelic tone.

"About before…the spell…"

"That incident is of no significance now. You were not ready at that time."

Willow swept her gaze over the landscape once again with wonder. "Where am I?"

"You are between where you were…and where you will rest."

The Between room.

"It looks like paradise."

"On Earth, the Garden of Eden _was_ paradise."

Will's brain suddenly twisted in all directions. "…If this is the Garden of Eden… and you are the Goddess of Nature and Earth… then this is your garden. …And you are Eden…?"

"And you are a wise witch indeed."

"But – wait – why are you here? Buffy said you told the Sorcerer about me. Can you help? We need a permanent fix. That old spell won't hold the Darkness forever. If we can give him form – mortal life–"

"There is nothing I can do for you but keep you here for a time."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What are you saying? Are you trying to tell me you came here just to keep me entertained while I body-swap?"

No response.

"You're really not going to help us, are you?"

The Goddess rested against the rail of the bridge and looked out across the silver waters.

Willow was through stepping lightly. Was this the Supreme Being she drew her power from? This Goddess showing the strength and empathy of a lampshade? She wondered to herself if there'd been a typo somewhere down the line. Maybe they'd sent her the Goddess of wicker by mistake. "So what do you plan to do the next time he breaks out of his cage and decides to make with the fun-time?"

Still there came no reply from the Goddess.

"Fine. Don't answer those clearly morally testing questions. But you _will_ answer me this:

How can I follow a Goddess who teaches us to bend over and take it up the ass?" She winced. Maybe that had pushed it just a little too far…

"What you ask is impossible," the Goddess replied at length. "Taking form as a mortal creature is a choice only he can make. He can not be put to death. Binding is all that is available to us."

"It's only impossible because no one tried it," Will retorted. "He had a mortal existence once. Before he went ectoplasmic. There has to be a way to give that life back to him."

"GODS DO NOT MAKE DEALS!" Tara roared at her with a static surge of air. "WE provide the paths and choices that can be made on the lower plains and our decisions are beyond the reproach of lesser beings!"

"Alright. Then I have just one question to ask you before I go back and at least _try_ to do something." She looked out over the crystal water. "What you just said about 'lesser plains' and 'lower beings'… I can guess by the way you flaunt your sovereignty that being a deity with lowly mortals like me to look up to you is kind of important to you. So… When Darkness succeeds and destroys all our worlds… What will you be a God of then? When there's no nature left to protect? When there's no one alive to recognise your power and worship you?"

Willow turned from that heavenly paradise and walked back towards the place of blinding light. "The answer, by the way, … You'll be the Goddess of _nothing_."

The Wiccan Mother Goddess directed her gaze to the determined young Witch.

She was wise and strong indeed. And with a powerfully logical capacity for reasoning.

* * *

The sombre calmness of the grassy dell cracked up and fell apart as the Darkness consumed Buffy's soul.

Worf rushed her with the hope of beating down flesh, but the Dark Slayer deflected the tip of the Klingon's lance and hammered a set of iron knuckles into his sternum. Worf lifted clear of the grassland and came down rolling in the distance. He came to a tumbling halt in the mist and tried to shake off his vertigo.

The soul-raped Vampire Slayer had big agonising plans for him, so she kicked her sword up into her hands and sent it spinning across the clearing – pinning Worf's braid into the ground.

She wanted to take her time with each one of them, one at a time. Starting with Jean-Luc Picard. She ripped the armoured grey pads from her torso, flexing with the freedom of the black bodysuit, and directed her attention to the rattled captain. "I promised you a painful death, Baldilocks."

Picard had no weapons. All he could do was hope to avoid her blows. If he could just anticipate her–

She spun in an instant and whip-kicked the startled man in the ribs – jolting him halfway across the glade – then feinted back at the waist to avoid the flying bat'leth from Worf.

The Klingon came swiping at her with the tip of his spear. She avoided his slicing actions well, knowing his moves, and the blade never touched her. But, for Worf, it was just a diversion. Because next he slipped in a good attack – one he didn't teach her – and she buckled to her knees.

The Slayer spat something at him and was about to get up to take him apart – when Data suddenly appeared behind her and seized her by the wrists.

She fought against his strength. "Release me!"

Data responded with his trademark passive indifference: "I do not believe that would be wise."

The Slayer struggled to free her arms from his unshakeable grip.

"Your physical power has limits," Data informed her calmly.

"So does _yours_!"

He tightened his hold on her until she groaned with pain. "It would appear your limits are far greater than mine."

Picard approached them cautiously, supporting his bruised ribcage. "Data? Are you…alright?"

His frazzled second officer inclined his head a little to one side and attempted to process. "…I am unable to locate my diagnostic subroutines… I believe the answer to your question…is _no_, Captain."

Ambassador Worf joined them and laid a hand across Picard's wound to test it. "They do not appear to be broken."

"Not yet," the girl uttered with malice.

Soon, Evil Buffy found herself trapped and surrounded by the entire Alpha Team. Spike had returned also with his spear and completed the formation.

She snarled at them all and was grieved by the lack of fear they displayed. They showed none of the awe that Darkness had instilled in the very hearts of men all those millennia ago. Perhaps deceit would prove the most effective tool. Rhamhal could see, through the Slayer's eyes, the hurt so clear on Spike's face. He knew the vampire's mind well enough to appeal to his weakness. "Spike… please… help me."

Picard looked to the dead man. "That isn't her, is it?"

Spike considered her for a long moment with a knotted stomach, mapping every facet of her beautiful features. He couldn't believe she had allowed this. Some part of him hoped she, as the Slayer, could somehow resist the possession. Then he saw her eyes. Darkness hid behind those angel eyes surreptitiously, but Spike was not so easily misled. "No. Buffy's gone," he replied sadly. "She's dead."

"No, Spike. Not dead. She's in me. This shell still holds her soul."

"Do you think I'm stupid? I know what happens when you're done with her. Next time you switch, Buffy's soul gets destroyed."

"It doesn't have to be that way, Spike. There is a way. I can be removed safely."

Spike put his spear to her throat. "Buffy knows I'd kill her now if it took you with her."

She smiled. "Liar."

"Rhamhal?" Picard appealed to her. "Why is any of this necessary? What can you possibly gain from all this destruction?"

Her eyes fell away to oily black. "My blood once ran pure with evil, Picard, and now it defines my spirit. The dimensions you inhabit torture me with the perverseness of their humanity… Your very existence – the way you creatures live your mortal lives – sickens me. I am without sustenance in this universe of yours and I aim to create a feast for myself. Chaos, destruction, suffering and torment are my nourishment. They are the things of _Hell_. And I shall bring Hell to every corner of–" She gasped suddenly and uncontrollably as though a knife were piercing her heart.

There followed an agonising crushing of the spirit – like being restricted in a cage of biting electricity. Rhamhal could feel the spell taking hold of him again as it had once before. He could feel his brother's stranglehold. The brutal tearing apart of his being. Binding… the terrible binding…

"You can't defeat me! You're all too WEAK!" he persisted malevolently through his Buffy mask. "Your magic can trap me… but it won't keep me forever!" A second shock wave struck his spirit.

At that, Data sparked and blew a gasket in his head, seizing right up. Even his blinkers went out.

The Dark Slayer cast her eyes back to him … then to the three surrounding her with a sly grin.

* * *

Xander ran through fog. Ahead appeared the writhing clawing corpse of something once living. He zapped it without regard and ran on.

A hideous shadow appeared suddenly before him out of the haze. Yet, just as suddenly, it was cleaved by Martok's scimitar.

"I need to get to Buffy," said Xander in a wheezing breath. "The team. I have to find the team."

"Go!" the chancellor called back, signalling the path. "The rest of the way is clear!"

Freeman reached him and the pair ran out of the rising fog together, crossing the rest of the open valley, and into the murky forest.

* * *

Willow's eyes, the black in them beginning to fade with the magic, fluttered, as the Sorcerer seemed to lose his focus. She visibly deflated and slumped forward; the sorcerer speaking in a rasp through her lips: "The witch…she…is breaking my link…"

Anya looked to Giles to share her bafflement and the man returned it with interest.

"Hey, guys," came Willow's familiar tone. "I'm back. I took a little trip…ha. Forgot to bring back souvenirs. …Actually… I think I'm kinda dizzy…"

Giles fought rising mortification that tottered on the fringe of anger. She'd just closed the door on their one chance at success and he couldn't believe it. "Willow? What are you doing?"

She stared at him with a heavy frown as she searched her jet-lagged brain for meaning. "Oh…yeah…that thing I was doing," she said finally. "Okay, I'm ready."

At once, Willow's hair and clothes burst to life – defying gravity and spreading aloft with a surge of energy – her eyes exploding with golden light.

The entire room fell under a mystical envelope of softened gravity that caused her hair to drift softly about her luminous face.

The flames of the 13 candles brightened and waved gently.

Anya signalled to Giles and whispered: "Is she _supposed_ to–"

"SILENCE!" boomed the resonant voice of the witch. "_I_ am working now."

Anya shut up. As did Rupert.

Willow's arms raised up to the spiritual heavens and the Mother Goddess, with all her power and will, summoned from within her in the ancient Aramaic language:

"_**Yâh! Rukha! mwâr-rakhu ârya dâyhudha!**_

'_**wid-dâyen âkh khâdh shweela dkhikh-khimthakh!**_

_**la déin khlap shuwkh, il-la khlap tishbokhta dghilyanakh!**_

_**mâlkuthéh dalaha lghaw minkhon wâkhdharâykonee!**_

_**ela patzan min bisha!**_

_**teyteh malkuthakh!**_

_**Bâytéh dalaha! Rkhâsh!**_

_**haw dlaw mishik-khana âkh dâwsogh-îa eethaw la mnâs ya… khub-ba wnuhra ikhol-khon…**_

_**ha mshâl-lâm! mâq:'âd!**_"

Anya pierced Giles with a quizzical frown.

He replied with a dumb shrug.

* * *

The Slayer screeched and suddenly stopped squirming in the android's grip. Spike drew back from her and the two men soon followed.

She began to gasp. Within her, Darkness could feel his spirit being tethered. It was a tearing burning sensation. He could almost feel the noose tighten around his essence as it began to drag him into another realm of being. This wasn't right. The spell he knew was becoming something else. And he could no longer feel the hand of his brother behind it. He could feel…

"…No," the Slayer implored in horrified disbelief.

Pain stretched out across her face and Spike had to hold himself back. She began to convulse as a swirling cloud of oily black filtered out through her every pore.

Buffy screamed as Darkness passed out of her.

* * *

The Goddess Willow turned her golden gaze across to Giles. "I shall give substance to the airborne apparition," she resounded.

"Oh…righto," Rupert uttered. "Jolly good."

Anya nodded. "Yes. I believe I like that plan."

The Divine Witch cast down her commandments:

"Immortal Spirit, ruinous bane.

Living substance let ye regain.

Breath to lungs, body to soul.

Blood to vessels and flesh to bone."

* * *

Buffy and the Alpha Team watched in awe as the wheeling black cloud compressed together to form the shape of a man.

* * *

The Mother Goddess threw all her force into affecting her will: "Breath to lungs!" she decreed.

* * *

Darkness gasped air as organs began to mold within his ebony shape.

_Body to soul!_

The weight of physicality struck him in the form of bone and muscle. He writhed at the pain.

_Blood to vessels!_

Veins stretched out across his body and fed his members.

_Flesh to bone!_

His surface seemed to harden and grow into skin, from which fibrous filaments sprouted and formed hair over the new body.

* * *

"It is done." Willow jolted back into her own burned-out body and collapsed to the carpet.

* * *

Standing in the open patch of land before them, they saw the naked shivering and sweating form of Darkness; head shrouded by a black mane of hair.

Rhamhal's gasping lungs reacted to his new vocal chords and he let out an awesome beastly cry.

Caged in flesh for the first time in thousands of years, he lifted his hands before his eyes and regarded them in disbelief. He was looking at a violation of divine law. A travesty.

He could feel the air flowing around his reborn skin. The ground under his feet had sensation again. It was all so horrific. And he knew whom to thank. It was that witch. And the Slayer's merry bunch of do-gooders. … The Slayer!

Buffy observed the dark bearded face of her enemy as he turned to her with the Devil's hatred in his eyes. She tried again in vain to free herself from Data's hands.

Even as severely pissed as he was at that moment, Rhamhal managed to find humour in Buffy's predicament. Right before marching up to her and slapping her so hard across her face she lost consciousness. Right then all he cared about was delivering painful death to the girl. But there were a couple of things he needed to do first…

Rhamhal ran across the glade and disappeared into the jungle.

"We need to finish him," Spike proclaimed.

Picard shook off his own bemused astonishment and gave Worf the order to pursue.

The Klingon took up his spear and raced across the clearing with Spike and the captain on his heels.

Something glittered ahead with movement and Worf stopped in his tracks suddenly – a stinging, burning sensation about his chest. Dropping his gaze, he found buried into his flesh a dozen poisonous barbs. Before he could move to act, his legs buckled and he folded onto his knees. His breath grew coarse before his thighs were overcome with numbness. Hinging forward, he collapsed face-first into the dirt.

Picard went to him and rolled him over.

Spike was so busy watching Worf's misadventure that it was too late to act by the time Rhamhal attacked him.

The vamp was knocked down and, before he could blink, a rock came crashing into his skull taking all his senses away. Rhamhal took the Klingon weapon from him.

Picard scrambled up to defend himself but met with the blunt end of the spear as he was jabbed in his stomach. That was followed by a harrowing fist to his bruised ribs – breaking a bunch of them with a terrible crack. Picard toppled. He was beaten into an uncomfortable sleep when the wooden staff came down across the back of his head.

The great Demon ruler Rhamhal approached Buffy – his primary target – with the lance in his hand. She was the most dangerous of his enemies. She had to be dealt with first. She was the one most deserving of pain. Also, she was the most trapped and helpless and unconscious, which helped.

He stood over her knelt and shackled form. Reaching out his new hand, he clenched her blonde tail and dragged back her head. "You think you are so special, don't you? Like some kind of Holy Messiah." He brought the spear tip up against her abdomen. "So be it," he whispered into her ear. "I shall gut you like Christ!"

Rhamhal drew the lance away.

Then he plunged it forward into her side.


	35. FINAL BATTLE : Bad Versus Evil

**- Final Battle -**

**-Bad Versus Evil-**

_**35**_

Spike caught the wood of the spear as its tip punctured Buffy's clothes and epidermis.

Rhamhal rolled his head around and pierced the vampire with his deep menacing eyes. Eyes set into a gaunt and brutish face outlined by a beard of pure black and raven hair that formed a widow's peak above his tall brow. His thin lips pursed in contempt.

Spike thumped him across his cheekbone.

Rhamhal returned with a fierce punch against his jaw.

Spike spun away to draw him clear of Buffy. The archfiend, son of the Devil, stepped from the trapped and sleeping Slayer and faced the nuisance vampire.

Spike, with his torn black clothes, twirled Worf's double-tipped spear. "Here's me thinking you were the Big Evil. But you hit like a girl."

The hellspawn-made-flesh, with his muscled physique, stood before him gripping his own lance. "I _was_ saving you until last, Spike. But you couldn't wait your turn."

The vamp drew his weapons ready in both hands. Rhamhal sank his sharp tip to the floor of the glade artfully in preparation.

Spike clocked Rhamhal's nudity. "This's gonna be distracting. Haven't fought a guy naked since Angel– … well…anyway…never mind." He jabbed his weapon abruptly to skewer Darkness but he feinted and clapped Spike's spear away with his own then sliced the point to take off his head. Spike dropped, propelling his staff in a low arc that almost took off Rhamhal's feet.

Rhamhal pulled back then stabbed forward to fork the vampire. Spike rolled away, circled, and deflected the other spear upward. With that, he tried to cut Rhamhal's open body with a slicing zigzag attack.

But nothing connected. And Spike was towing to recall the little Wing Chun he'd picked up. Spike corkscrewed his stick in a stirring motion to hold Rhamhal back, but the demonic hell-child didn't much feel like taking a break. Rhamhal stepped in and caught the twirling spear shaft with one quick hand, thrusting his lance out and lacerating the vampire's stomach.

Spike doubled in pain but his spear was still in his enemy's grip, so he shot out a leg and kicked Rhamhal away.

The Dark One smiled with glee and circled around the doomed vamp as Spike checked the deep gash across his gut. He re-thought his tactics and looked around at their surroundings. They'd drifted off to one side of the clearing now and to Rhamhal's rear lay the clump of rocks and the beginning of the wooded region.

Spike rushed him suddenly and barred their spears together. Taking hold of both staffs, he kept running, lifting Rhamhal into the air and ramming him into a tree.

Rhamhal hit the tree with a grunt and struggled to push the platinum-haired vampire away. But Spike pinned him further by forcing the spears in their hands tight against his stomach.

He looked down at Spike with hatred of his defiance. He wished to butt his head but the vamp had him trapped at too great a height. Instead he took advantage of Spike's weakness and thrust his foot into the deep cut across his abdomen. Spike roared in pain, letting Rhamhal's feet fall back to the grass, but not releasing his hold on the staffs. The villain rammed the wooden shafts into his nose and swung him around roughly. Spike fell away and rolled into a narrow track beside the rocks.

The vampire wanted to quit. He couldn't find the strength in him to stand. His stomach burned and bled and his swollen nose felt like a balloon filled with fire attached to the front of his head. He half sat up, supporting the weight of his torso with his arms behind him and looked up at Rhamhal through teary eyes.

The raven-haired naked man walked softly into the pathway that ran between the rocks and the trees with a spear in each hand. "Why do you look so afraid?" he asked of the fallen half-breed. "You have nothing to fear from me…we are kin."

He walked forward through the narrow track like a stalker and Spike, on his elbows and ass, drifted back from him.

"Join me, Spike. Help me to kill them and suffer the brief pain knowing that, when we are away from this place, I shall see the machine that defiles your mind – defiles the very nature of what you are – is removed. You will be _free_!"

"_Free_?" Spike stopped his retreat. "You mean _your_ slave. That's not freedom. And, as for the 'nature of what I am'… You mean a _monster_, right? … Let me tell ya something, _dickhead_,…YOU'RE the monster here…with your big plan to end the world–"

"Existence! End ALL existence!" Rhamhal corrected.

"Whatever, mate. I happen to like existence as it is."

Rhamhal wasn't winning this one with words. It occurred to him that he shouldn't even have to try. Spike was a vampire. A demon. And Rhamhal had power over the minds of such ones. Thus far, somehow, Spike had resisted his controlling force. But no longer. If Spike wouldn't join him willingly, he would enforce his will upon him. The Dark One reached out with his Mastery and thrust it upon the vampire.

Spike recoiled suddenly at the sheering mental onslaught. The raping intrusion hit like a burning dagger at the heart of his skull making the chip seem like a cheap joke shocker. He rolled over to his knees almost involuntarily and tried with one hand to hold his head together.

"Don't fight it, Spike. Let me in." He pushed in towards the kneeling blond.

Spike felt the pain growing beyond what he could bare and he edged forward as quickly as he could force his twitching limbs to move. He crawled out from the trail and out into an open stony area beyond the rocks.

"Let all your pains be released," Darkness went on. "Join with me. Gain from my strength and clarity of purpose–"

Spike, like a Phoenix enflamed, came somehow to his feet and turned to Rhamhal defiantly. His face had turned. The vampire was loose. "Look," Spike growled through his agony, "I'm really not in the mood for fightin' with words today. …So whatya say we skip the Joss Whedon verbal assault n' settle this like a couple of uncivilised demons?"

Rhamhal snarled in disgust and finally gave up trying to push through the mental barrier. "I can live with that."

Free from the pain at last, Spike bore his fangs. "Not for long."

Rhamhal swung an arm back and threw one of the spears. Spike whipped around, catching it and swung it at the naked man. Rhamhal leapt back only to be hit suddenly as Spike crashed into him with a shoulder-barge and crushed him against the rocks. William the Bloody released his spear and let it fall to the floor. The muscles in his arms tightened to breaking point and he let off a flurry of manic punches into the dark enemy. Rhamhal took hits to the stomach, chest, ribs and head before the vampire buckled him with a grinding knee to the gut. Spike hooked his head under one arm and threw the man to the ground. He grabbed up one of the spears and shot it into Rhamhal's thigh.

He screamed out and tore the lance from his flesh, using it to stand. "Nice shot, Spike," he said. "That'll slow me down. But it won't stop me."

Spike felt a rush of confidence at the sight of Rhamhal's leg wound. It was a dark gash. There was no blood from it, which was unusual, but at least he knew now the enemy could be hurt. He wasn't so invulnerable after all. "I was aiming for yer arsehole, you… arsehole."

Rhamhal grimaced and drew himself tall. He attacked suddenly like an animal. Spike retreated, pounced onto the rocks, and rolled through the air – passing over his opponent who tried to catch him with his lance. He came down and scooped up the other weapon.

With a clatter their staffs came together and they fought. Blocking, thrusting, slicing. Neither managed another hit and both finally ended the volley with a sweeping slashing motion of the lances. Still, they missed – their spear tips passing against each other with a ring.

The pair circled each other, realising in turn they were both standing just a few feet from the precipice of a great fathomless canyon. Spike discovered this a few moments after Rhamhal when he almost backed over the edge. He reacted by diving and rolling away. When he came up, Rhamhal was facing him – his back to the cliff.

Spike had a plan. It was a touch insane but it was the only one he had. He hurled his spear at Rhamhal's feet and the Dark One stepped back to avoid it.

Darkness realised his error just in time to catch sight of the vampire as he ran into him with such force they both went plunging off the edge of the world.

* * *

Buffy opened her eyes slowly as vision gradually returned to her. Every inch of her skin still burned slightly with the after-effect of Darkness being ripped out of her.

She looked around quickly. She was still in the clearing but Darkness was nowhere to be seen. Her ears strained and she came to hear, briefly, the sound of a fight in the distance behind the rocks. It seemed, from the sudden silence, that the fight was over. That didn't bode well and she hastily examined her situation – her arms still clasped by the tin man.

_And just how am I gonna get out of this?_ she pondered.

* * *

Spike lost his vampness to panic as he rethought his strategy a fraction too late. He fell off the cliff and managed to catch the rocky edge by a few outgrowths of roots. His body swung and struck the canyon wall painfully. But he held on and hung dangerously knowing he could survive. Because he had survived. Survived and defeated Evil. He could claw his way back to safe ground and regain his title as the Big Bad.

He heard a groan from below him and, looking down the wall of earth and rock, he saw an unbelievable thing.

Rhamhal hung from his spear – its sharp tip dug into the cliff face only a metre beneath him.

Spike almost dropped himself in shock. But his few seconds of stunned surprise cost him dearly as Rhamhal lifted himself to stand precariously on the shaft of his lance.

Spike could see what was coming. He planted his feet against the rock face and tested the strength of the roots in his hands.

Darkness bent at the knees, drawing on his inhuman power and the flex of the wooden staff, and leapt toward safety.

Spike vamped-out again and ripped out the roots as he propelled himself out of the canyon and onto hard land again. His feet touched base as something flashed beside him. Spike twisted about and met with the sharp end of the other spear.

He coughed and went suddenly limp and numb. Standing before him, Rhamhal held the Klingon spear firmly. The spear that reached into his stomach, tearing up his 6-pack, and coming out somewhere beside his spine.

Spike was lanced.

He managed a terribly meek sound from his throat before Darkness raised the spear into the air. The vampire left the floor and gravity added weight to his exhausted body. He sank onto the spear.

Rhamhal's face – full of self-gratification – drew up to his and offered him an antagonising smile. "Spike," he noted. "You may wish to change your name to _Spiked_."

At that, Rhamhal whipped the shaft of the lance around and sent the skewered vampire hurtling into the air.

Spike's body broke through the line of bamboo trees and vanished.

Rhamhal brushed his hands off with a sigh. He'd had enough distractions for one unwanted lifetime. He had only one concern. One immediate mission. And he would allow nothing to further hinder him.

He headed back to the clearing to finish off the Slayer once and for all.


	36. FINAL BATTLE : Blood Of The Damned

**- Final Battle -**

**-Blood Of The Damned-**

_**36**_

Xander and Freeman followed the team's trail through the woods.

Dusk was slowly dissolving into sunset above them as they moved veraciously through the dark and thick bamboo trees that grew in a tangle all around them. Xander couldn't see beyond 10 metres in any direction making it difficult to even say where they had come from. At his feet, the loamy soil was covered with a carpet of dead leaves and shoots. From this sprouted the beginnings of new trees creating a landscape clustered with tender young leaves.

Xander held back so as not to spoil the path before them. Dave had shouldered one of his rifles and Xander gave him cover as he stooped to the ground and tracked their route. Lowering his head and testing the land with his fingertips, he identified areas of trampled leaves and broken shoots that showed recent activity. He separated the tracks from those made by animals by the clear transference of dirt onto a squashed leaf in she print of a Starfleet issue boot. It showed the direction of the Alpha Team.

"This way," Freeman signalled and moved off at 11 o'clock.

Xander fell in line behind him. He came to a sudden standstill when he walked into the back of the captain.

"Harris," said the frozen captain in a troubled tone.

Xander saw what waited for them beyond Freeman's shoulders. A light fog hung in the air before them and within it a group of dark misshapen figures blocked their way.

Freeman slipped the second rifle from his shoulder. "Let's go around."

"Um…Dave." Twice the number of them lay behind. "This's gonna slow us down."

"No it's not. Go."

"What?"

"Take this." He threw Xander his second rifle and pulled out his hand phaser. "Go find them. I'll hold these monsters back."

Xander looked to the few creatures ahead and back to the crowd behind. He couldn't' leave Captain Freeman here to face possibly a dozen of these Hellions. But, at the same time, his desire to reach Buffy was urgent.

Dave gave him an assuring nod.

Xander hesitated briefly, then he lifted both large guns and spun them ahead and pressed onward, blasting his way out of the snare.

Freeman stood alone. He held out the weapons as the demons and zombies moved in around him. Surrounded by a ring of nightmare creatures, he circled with his guns looking for movement. Partly he was reluctant to start firing because he knew that once he did… it would be over.

The rifle suddenly left his hand; whipped away by the foul and stretched tongue of a Zunge Demon. Winding its tumorous surface around the barrel, it wrenched the gun from his grip. The weapon yanked into a massive frog-maw and crunched in half. A second later it disappeared in a gulp.

Freeman wheeled around with his hand phaser. But they didn't advance. Standing. Staring. The way they watched him with their ghostly static presence grew increasingly unnerving with every second. Each of these monsters was a weapon of a kind he couldn't comprehend. Some had visible weapons – claws, teeth, knives. The terrifying potential of them frightened him. They frightened him because of the one thing he was truly afraid of.

Death.

Here he was facing these impossible odds after all the combat he'd lived through and all the horrors he'd seen. He'd been dodging death since he was a child on the Venus-3 colony. Battled the Dominion dozens of times and even survived the recent space battle. He wondered… _After everything_… _Could it all really end here?_

"Is this it? Really?" he said aloud. In reply the bullfrog snorted. Captain Dave Freeman had always expected to go out like Kirk – after a long life of death-dodging and in one final blaze of glory.

And, still, the creatures didn't advance.

He lowered his weapon, utterly overcome by the unreality of facing the knowledge that his life was over.

Disbelief soon became a peaceful calm when it suddenly hit him; he couldn't actually imagine his life beyond that point. Couldn't visualise a future. It seemed his mind had accepted the situation rather quickly.

"So…here endeth the mission?"

It had to happen sometime.

The zombies didn't advance. The demons didn't advance. They just watched him and his calm threatened to revert to fear.

Dave loosened and tightened his grip on the phaser nervously. "Come on. What are you waiting for?"

Nothing stirred. But, when his roving eye stopped, he saw that one of the monstrosities wore a vulgar and satisfied grin.

"Come on!" the captain incited. "I know what you're doing!" He raised his phaser. "Drawing out my fear." He aimed it square in the face of the frog beast. "Well, damn it, you've had all you're getting. I won't let you delay this any longer. If it's my time – _Come on_!"

Freeman set aside reality for one brief moment. He squeezed the trigger and opened fire.

* * *

Rhamhal returned to the open glade naked, his blood pumping for more slaughter. Over in the distance Worf still lay paralysed. Not far lay the broken captain. They were insignificant to him now. His sights turned right toward the trapped girl where the android stood. She was the one he was going to take apart. He stopped. The Slayer was gone.

Data still stood before him alone in the same frozen pose…only…with no arms.

The shoulders of his mining coat ended and then there was nothing. Rhamhal moved to the mechanical man, surveying the clearing for the Slayer. When he reached the android, the signs on the ground gave him good indication of where she'd gone. Into the woods. He took back his coat from Data and threw it on to give him a degree of modesty. The underlying fact was… he was beginning to feel a chill and he hated the sensation.

Darkness slipped away into the trees to stalk his prey.

* * *

Buffy sheathed her recovered bat'leth and scaled the thickest of the nearby bamboo trees. She was in the thick of the jungle preparing for the coming of Darkness. She was rushing up the tree now feeling time was short. Loosening Data's grip on her wrists had taken longer than she liked even after she'd snapped off his limbs. Now the arms were scattered back in the clearing.

Reaching the summit of the thick tree, she found her weight began to bend it. She caught herself on a second tree and held herself there – 30ft above the ground – by her arms; her legs drawn up and ready. She already heard him approaching.

The raven antichrist drifted cautiously through the woodland and seemed to pick up on something. He stopped beneath her and scanned around.

Buffy released herself… but, mid-drop, Rhamhal casts his attention to her wickedly, firing a poisonous barb at her. She reacted quickly and threw back her head. The barb shot by her – skimming her chin. With her eyes drawn upward, she smashed into the earth ass-first and lost her lungs.

Rhamhal appeared over her prone body, and pounded his foot into her face – burying her head into the mud. Taking her by the bodysuit, he dragged her out of the slime and smacked her into a tree. He formed a fist and punched her repeatedly under the ribs until she began to gasp for breath and then he struck her hard in the face.

Buffy yelped at the last punch, which made his day. Rhamhal lifted her again by the collar of her suit and threw her harshly, jarring her against a tree. She hit the soft floor and rolled to a crouch.

She winced and shook off the stinging sensations about her body. When she looked up, Buffy saw something that harked back to their first meeting on the traders' planet.

Her enemy moved through the trees slowly, his long coat drifting around his legs. Darkness in his eyes. Those eyes fixed on hers.

It was showtime. Again. Only this time… he was a man.

She coiled and sprang.

They ran at each other.

Buffy left the ground with an arc kick that lifted Rhamhal and knocked him down.

He raised his legs in a spin that brought him to his feet as the Slayer landed. She moved in with a punch that he caught, hooking a leg behind hers and pushing against her collar. She twisted and fell to the dirt. Rhamhal drew back he leg and kicked her flying into a bamboo trunk.

She came to rest on her knees and slammed a fist into his gut. She struck his face twice, dropped under his wild punch, and sent an elbow into his stomach before bashing his chin with an uppercut.

Rhamhal stopped her next blow with his forearm and slapped her with the back of his hand. Grabbing hold of her arm, he twisted it in a knot and jabbed a knee into her.

She recoiled and palmed him away. As she returned an attack, he took hold of the sides of his coat and whipped her face with its tails. The pain of the material slapping across her cheeks was intense and she took a spin-kick to him. He caught it and used his arm as a noose around her neck. Moving behind her, he fisted her in the spine. She cried out, enraged, and took his head; flipping him over her shoulder. But, as he landed, he kicked her across the head and Buffy stumbled back. Rhamhal picked up a length of bamboo as he stood and cracked it across her skull. The Slayer whipped around and crashed to the earth.

Rhamhal breathed a heavy sigh and disposed of the bamboo stem. He knelt by the Slayer and turned her over. She was out cold.

"Sleeping beauty," he remarked, gripping her jaw. "You're too easy to K.O, little girl."

With her plaited tail in his hand, he dragged her unconscious body from the forest and into the clearing once again. He wanted to take her to the canyon and wake her up. Then he wanted to see her fly. On the way he planned to use the local plant life to barb her. That way she would be no further trouble.

Halfway through the glade, Picard began to groan and move slightly. Rhamhal releases the girl. It looked like Picard needed more encouragement to stay down.

But Buffy was far from unconscious. The pain of being pulled by her hair had been worth it to reach this moment.

She rolled and threw an arm back. Buffy unsheathes her sword and sliced it through the back of her enemy's ankles.

Rhamhal cried out and froze.

Buffy didn't. She slammed her arm up into the back of his coat and bashed his testicles with all her might.

He wheezed and folded to his knees. Rhamhal's fall stopped when his hands met the grass and he growled with distress. He couldn't even attempt to stand as his feet were torn and folded beneath his legs.

Yet, he did not bleed. Not from his ankles, nor from the apparent wound Buffy now saw in his thigh. She watched his misery and struggling for a time, quite satisfied with herself.

Picard recovered gradually and joined her in standing before the fallen villain. "He is defeated?" he asked, unsure exactly what constituted defeat in her universe.

Buffy gave her head a shake. "He still has the power of Mastery," she replied.

"That's right and I always will!" Rhamhal spat out despite his crippled state. "You really think this weak flesh can contain my awesome power?"

"No," said Buffy. "What I really think is you talk a lot and make big with the noise. If you ever decide to change vocation you might wanna think about PR work. I just wouldn't represent yourself if I were you."

Picard looked across to her strangely.

"And what of the verbal garbage that oozes from _you_ almost every second?" he returned bitterly.

"I can back up words with actions, Darko. Or did you miss the part where I just kicked your ass? And you should avoid trying to piss me off. It may seriously damage your health."

"What can you do, Slayer? You are NOTHING to me! I command an ARMY!"

Buffy laughed a little forcedly. "You command _nothing_. You enslave souls – force obedience. There's no loyalty there. No following. You're nothing but a sad puppetmaster."

His eyes stabbed at her and he bore his teeth with a snarl.

* * *

Freeman saw 5 of them vaporise before the others had the chance to retaliate. But they did retaliate.

The first to reach him was a vile little creature with short legs and long arms. It hooked his feet and took them from under him.

Freeman reeled as he fell to the ground, cutting himself against the brittle bamboo shards. The pain hadn't passed when he realised his hands were empty and his phaser was gone. He felt the racing need to scramble. To recover before they overwhelm him. To find his weapon before–

Dave let out a wild cry. He howled as something with an unnatural number of teeth bit down on his right thigh and tore out a good chunk of his flesh. The unbelievable pain threatened to knock him clean out but what he saw next he would never forget and it roused him from his stupor.

He saw the hideous monster chewing on the ripped meat of his leg. He saw the many others that drew up to him and loomed over his damaged frame.

And, then, he saw them vanish one by one in swirls of steaming mist.

Phaser fire blasted overhead and ate away his attackers and Freeman angled back his head to see the shape of Xander Harris; the rifles in his hands erupting with fire.

Dave lost consciousness. He knew because his next experience was of being raised to a sitting position by Harris. Xander lifted him into a seated position against a tree. Freeman grunted at the pain of movement and looked to his new hero. Xander's face gradually came into focus.

"We need to get you to the medical camp," Xander said wisely then tied off the blood to his leg with a length of material from Dave's own uniform.

But Freeman shook his head and insisted that Xander go on. "I'll call in the cavalry and be in the hands of a nurse in no time, Harris. You need to find the others and make sure they finish the mission. The mission…"

After a few more seconds of cajoling, Xander – sweating like crazy in the humid jungle – stripped away his Starfleet jacket and shirt until he wore just the uniform vest, picked up his rifles, and went running into the distant forest.

Freeman sagged back and sighed. He tapped his badge and, with all the breath he could muster, said: "Freeman to med-centre… I think I could use a doctor here. When you're free."

* * *

Picard fought to reinforce himself against the pain of his broken ribs as Worf stumbled back to them unsteadily, still numb from the barbs.

Darkness had promised the Slayer would fail in her mission to bind him… and now he was flesh. He had promised her death… and now he was crippled. He could still achieve his goal, however. It would simply take a new tactic to get there. Using the knowledge he'd gained from the android, he targeted Picard's Starfleet sensibility:

"Captain Picard. I appeal to you. …I give myself over willingly into your custody. All your questions I shall answer. I will be no further burden but I _will_ open your eyes to knowledge beyond anything your Federation can conceive. You must accept. As a Starfleet officer, you must accept my surrender."

The captain considered him carefully. He knew one thing: Rhamhal had power of a kind that no prison he knew of could contain. When the Summers girl stepped into his view with an expression of such severity it threatened to turn her pretty face ugly, it underlined the fact that this was _her_ realm.

"Finish this." He turned from them and helped Worf to stand.

"You're Starfleet!" Rhamhal screamed out. "You MUST accept!"

"You're the only one here having trouble accepting," Buffy said.

Darkness killed her a thousand times over with his eyes in that instant. "If you strike me down, Slayer, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I won't even comment on that line. And, by the way, your power comes from your mind now. A physical thing. I like physical things. Take an ass for example. A physical ass is so much easier to kick than a spooky one, don't you agree? ...Like a physical power-source is a lot easier to disconnect." The Slayer raised her bat'leth above her shoulder like a baseball pro. "I hear Hell's pretty hot this time of year. Send me a postcard. Let me know."

Darkness uttered his final words as the Slayer drew back her sword. "I _will_ be back."

She swung the crescent blade around and cut clean through his neck. "No," she replied. "You won't."

Rhamhal's head drifted away from his neck and tumbled to the heath.

* * *

Out in the foggy stretch of the valley, 326 dead bodies withered. Their strings were cut and their lifeless bones collapsed in final death. The dozens of surviving demons that fought by their side lost their coherence and stopped suddenly as their minds and memories were thrown into chaos. The few that continued their attack – powered by a crazed animal instinct – were soon shot, cut, and beaten down. Within a matter of minutes, the war had become a clean-up.

* * *

Rhamhal's severed corpse lay fallen and defeated at the Slayer's feet. She was very happy to finally put her sword to rest in its place on her back.

It was done.

Now came the exhilaration she always felt after a big win. She wanted to smile and gloat but, in all truth, her energy was expended. She wanted nothing more than to return to a comfortable room where she could bathe and rest. Then she planned to meet with her friends and enjoy a lengthy session of 'trash the fallen bad guy'. She would start by telling them all about how small his… well… there would be time for that later. Now the priorities were: bath, bed. Then fun. Nothing else was worth thinking about until after then.

"Some freaks never know when to quit," she said to the captain. He was holding Worf up, even despite his own injuries, and staring at the severed head in the grass. The mist about the body had strangely drawn back to unveil it in all its horrific glory.

"There's no blood," Picard noted, somewhat disturbed by events. "Is that…normal?"

Buffy eyed the blackness within Rhamhal's open neck. Like his veins were filled with solid tar it seemed to her. "When it comes to demons, Captain, unusual is usual. His blood is just…different." She suddenly thought of her mom and sister. Two people that shared her own blood. _Evil is evil_, she thought, _and Darkness is Darkness _..._ it's in his blood._

"The blood of the damned…" she muttered distantly. As the father was damned to Hell, so too would that damnation be with his son.

Blood. Her dreams. Danger. Death.

Rhamhal was dead. And, for all his talk, one thing he said did make sense to her when she considered it. Something about 'this flesh won't contain my power'. She wondered if he'd really meant his Mastery… or if he was talking about his _true_ power… his Evil…

Or, she could just be paranoid.

"Is he…?" Picard began. "…Is it over?"

She relaxed and let it go. "It is," she replied, then went to Worf and helped the captain bare his weight.

The three of them began to hobble and limp away from the whole terrible episode when an unnerving sound – like the sizzling of bacon – froze them in their tracks.

Buffy removed Worf's arm from her shoulders and, with a heavy sense of foreboding, turned back to see the skin burning away from Rhamhal's carcass.

Picard spun Worf around.

What he saw threatened to break his resolve and plunge him into insanity.

The flesh and meat of the cadaver melted away with a smell beyond unbearable, leaving behind the mass with an oily blackness that harked to something unmentionable and Lovecraftian in nature.

The neck sprouted something bone-like that joined with the form of the severed head and the two came together as one creature again.

And then it moved. Opening up like a moth from a cocoon, the surface unfurled to reveal a sight that gripped even the Slayer's heart with icy panic.

A pair of massive shadowy wings stretched out.

Standing before them – three metres in height and not a millimetre less – an atramentous ebony Demon Bat – straight out of the deepest bowels of Hell.

The wings, rough and inky, were tipped with sharp bony spines. Its emaciated form bore hands of thin dark bone that ended in talons almost a foot in length. And the head, with its bony rows of horns that lined the chin, cheeks and forehead was frightening beyond description. Its eyes, thin and empty, seemed to see everywhere at once. And the fangs… they made a vampire's teeth look like toothpicks.

Buffy stood quite far away… yet she took a step back.

"Miss Summers?" It was Picard.

"Don't panic," she said, fighting her own.

The enormous horned skull turned to her and those eyes lit up and burned with fire.

Her tired hands made fists. "Now we're seeing the _real_ you."

It squealed a horrid piercing cry and stormed her.

The Slayer hauled out the bat'leth from its sheath, went in under the snapping claws, and drove it through the demon's waist. It stopped suddenly on impact just below the thick tar-like surface and began to fry. The beast's touch burned!

Darkness took her by the arm and lifted her into the air. She screamed as her snared limb began to boil. She couldn't bare it. Kicking out, she caught the monster in the eye and it flung her into a pile on the ground.

She winced and cradled her charred flesh as it shot needles through the length of her arm. Nevertheless, she recovered her feet as Darkness tore out the sword from its side and threw it sizzling into the soft grass.

She charged and kicked it but the thing barely moved and she quickly found herself ducking as it made repeated swings at her. Until she gave up and dived away. She simply couldn't go on. Her melting arm had stricken her with remarkable pain that she couldn't fight through. Even in her best state… she wondered where to start with this undeniably pure demon.

Darkness delivered that cutting scream again.

Captain Picard tried to hurry Worf away but stumbled and tripped to the floor.

The demon viewed them one time finally. Its wings opened up to their full length in a threatening gesture. A predatory animal's method of intimidation. And it worked.

Worf recognised the attack formation of a Bird of Prey in those wings and he prayed for strength to stand. Before him, Buffy rose to her feet. His admiration for her threatened to rival that he had for the great Kahless. She was going to fight this horror to the very end of her and he marvelled at the bravery of the girl. Though part of him put it down to shear stubbornness.

Buffy held up her smoking sword and waited for the final attack. She knew this one would be the last because Darkness had given them the signal. He was preparing for his finishing move.

The mammoth wings flung back to form a shark fin and Darkness lowered his horned face. The mouth of it opened unnaturally wide and from it a shimmering jet of fiery air streamed out – burning up the heath until only ash remained. The head craned up and the scorching breath moved swiftly and destructively toward her – tearing up everything in its blazing path.

The sword fell from her hand. Buffy had nowhere to run.

"HEY!"

The heat subsided abruptly as Darkness paused and turned to the rise of land that led into the clearing.

Midshipman Xander Harris appeared on the hillock with 2 rifles braced against his bare arms. Cool as a snowman's cold bits, he thrust out his chin and said: "Eat hot phaser, demon scum."

Two orange globes of phased energy blasted from the guns and the Angel of Hell drew in his wings as a shield.

The balls of fire beat through the ebony cocoon and burned into the heart of Darkness. They all witnessed as the fire consumed the beast until all that remained of it were footprints in the dirt.

For Buffy and the two fallen members of her team, the next few seconds stretched out for much longer as they were unable to remove their eyes from the spot where the monster had stood just moments before. Now even the vapour of its destruction was gone from sight.

Still, they were frozen. Their sudden and unexpected deliverance proved too much to take in.

Xander took a deep breath of air. "Our work is done here." He threw the guns over his shoulder. "Let's go," he went on, "before I drown in my own sweat, thank you."

Buffy, a little bewildered, faced him. Picard and Worf also turned to regard him. Then the three of them leapt out of their skin suddenly when the pouches around the men's necks vanished in a golden wisp of light.

Buffy chuckled. Her arm burned like…well…hell. But, damn it, she was happy.

"Eat hot phaser?" she called to Xander after a time.

He scaled the slope and shrugged. "Well, I was gonna go with 'yippee-ki-yay'… but I heard some other vest-aficionado got there first. You know a better one?"

Buffy gave it brief consideration. "…Hasta-la-phaser, baby?"

"Damn."

Picard helped Worf to clamber up and Xander rushed in to support them. At the same time, Buffy collected the android's arms from the spot she'd left them.

She took one final look around and followed the men away.

As they left, Picard slapped his combadge on Data's armless body. Pattern enhancer aside, Geordi would have to beam him up ASAP to assess the damage to his positronic brain.

As they departed, Xander noted: "It's been a hell of a week."

Buffy huffed dubiously. "It's only been a week?"

And then they were gone.

* * *

Almost half an hour later, Spike emerged from the jungle like a walking shish kebab with the spear still protruding through his torso. He regarded the empty clearing and knew right away what had happened. "They soddin'-well did it again!"

Forgotten. Yet again. Left for dead without a thought. He was not impressed. He cursed repeatedly under his breath and walked away. Passing the Robo-geek, Spike nonchalantly gave him a good shove.

Data hit the ground with a clunk.

"Ponce."

* * *

In the centre of the valley plain; in the now still calmness of the battlefield, Commander William T. Riker stood regarding with deep concern the fallen corpse of a giant native bird. Around him he saw a number of others in the same state. He winced quite severely. "This isn't going to look good on the report."

* * *

[All story related PICTURES can now be found together on MY SPACE. To find my space please feel free to visit my Fanfiction profile and follow the link there.

(P.S. ...'Eat hot phaser, Demon scum'...mmm… 3 years ago I was kinda challenged by Jesse MacLean to slip in this exceptionally cheesy line. But I realised immediately where it could fit. And I fell in love with it. So there it is. Enough said.

Also...I'd just like to disclaim the Star Wars line, the Terminator lines and the Die Hard line. They're not mine.

…That should do it.)

'_I've always wanted to hear someone on Star Trek utter the line EAT HOT PHASER, ALIEN/DEMON SCUM! But the boring Starfleeters are too professional to do it. Could you stick Xander in a phaser fight and have him say that? Thanks._' – Jesse MacLean, 2003-06-09.]


	37. Aftermath

**- Aftermath -**

_**37**_

The next day, two starships arrived at Epsilon Ursae 6 to begin the clean-up effort. The _U.S.S. Progressive_ and _U.S.S. Hawkeye_ first set to work stabilising both the Enterprise and Rutherford in preparation for towing to Earth. A transport tug was due the following day to take them home. A number of the crew from both damaged ships were staying as guests on the rescue vessels until the tug arrived. These included the members of the now galactically infamous Scooby Gang.

Since the end of the war, Buffy had enjoyed a good post-victory rest and, thanks to the Rutherford's Doctor Sishna, her burned arm was good as new. She hadn't quite had the bedside manner of Crusher, but she had been an interesting sight to see. Blue skin, white hair, and aerial feelers. Once healed and cleaned, Buffy had enjoyed the traditional eating of ice-cream with Willow; who had a major jet lag from her out-of-body experience. They'd had fun sharing their experiences from the previous day. Buffy talked of Rhamhal and Willow of how she had persuaded the Goddess to help. Xander and Anya had spent much of the time privately in a room. Apparently, Anya had many forms of reward to give Xander for his heroism. Giles had met with them for a brief celebration before associating with members of Starfleet and the Federation. Spike hadn't shown himself much. It seemed he was holding a grudge over the being-left-for-dead incident.

And Buffy had come to find that the Klingons now had developed a deep respect for her and her team. Even the Starfleet people had replaced their fear of them with awe. She was getting the impression that, on Earth, they had become minor celebrities by reputation alone.

And so, as the Sunnydale group celebrated, relaxed, and spent time catching up, it was the job of the Starfleet crews to clean all evidence of their infringement upon the habitat of the planet, and to ensure that no lasting damage was caused and that future generations of that world wouldn't, in a thousand years or two, find a tricorder or phaser buried in a field. It turned out to be quite an extensive undertaking. Thankfully, for members of the Enterprise and Rutherford crew, their part was largely over, which left them able to rest at last or attend to their own personal issues…

* * *

Picard moved briskly through the corridors of the U.S.S. Hawkeye. His destination – guest quarters 235, deck 7. He had personally spent the past day organising the beginnings of the clean-up operation and communicating with Starfleet almost continuously. Once the 2 relief vessels had arrived, he'd been in a number of meetings with Captain Naoko Nishimura of the Progressive and Captain Soumanou of the Hawkeye. In that time, he'd had Geordi working exclusively on repairing Data's neural net.

And, 15 minutes ago, he had received the call; Data was being discharged. He was both eager to see Data free from the bizarre parasite and back to being himself again, as well as concerned that the damage would prove irreparable.

As Picard reached the android's quarters, both Geordi and Beverly were on their way out and the trio met in the corridor outside his door.

"How is he?" the captain asked anxiously.

His chief engineer sighed. "I can't get anything out of him, Captain. He's…just…mumbling incoherently." His face, to Picard, looked weathered and forlorn.

"Then," Picard considered sadly, "the damage was beyond repair?"

"No, sir." Geordi replied, surprising his captain. "Don't get me wrong, it was pretty severe. I didn't even know it could be fixed until it was. But, far as I can tell, everything from the viral tag is back where it belongs in Data's head. And all his systems and programming check out. He… he should be fine."

"But he's not…"

Crusher put a gentle hand on Picard's arm. "Jean-Luc, he's been through an ordeal. I think he's…traumatised."

He allowed that thought to settle with him a moment. He needed to see Data himself. The responsibility he felt as a result of killing his second officer left him with the urgent need to do all he could to make it right again. "Perhaps I should talk with him. If you think he's up to it, Beverly."

"You can try. To be perfectly honest… he may not even realise you're there."

With a heavy nod, Picard entered the quarters alone.

The doors slid aside for him to reveal a room lit sombrely by a single desk lamp. Once the sound of the closing doors had passed, Picard could hear the nearby murmuring of a distraught man. It hardly sounded like the speech of the second officer he knew. But there his android science officer was. Sat in a small chair facing out toward the large single window panel, the artificial man stared out into space and toward the northern hemisphere of the 6th planet and uttered a jumble of sounds under his false breath. And suddenly, as if aware he was no longer alone, Data fell quiet.

Captain Picard gingerly moved around to sit across from his friend and, besides tears, he saw the face of a man who looked like he'd been crying.

"Terrible," the android uttered remotely. His gaze never left the stars and planet before him.

"Data?"

"Terrible… destruction. Such… horror. Destruction."

"No, Data. Our campaign was successful. The threat has passed." Picard had never seen Data in this state. Under no influence from outside forces yet… so lost.

"So much destruction," Data went on. "So many lives… one thousand seven hundred and eighty two lives…ended. Such… destruction."

The captain put out his hand and rested it on Data's arm in an attempt to ground him as he would a human friend. "Data. It's over."

"Captain?"

"Yes. Data, yes."

"I am…alone."

"I'm here, Data."

"I…I feel. Every horrifying thought that passed through his mind. Every terrible act of destruction he caused. Every life taken. A thousand souls crying out in pain. Tortured… Terrible… Destruction." And then he looked to Picard. "And… I recall… It felt _good_."

Picard watched Data drop his head and he gripped the man's arm tighter whether it had effect or not. "It wasn't _you_. None of that came from you."

"But I _feel_." He looked to his commander as if desperate for his help. "The…emotion chip. …So long. It has never been active for…so long. I…find it impossible to recall a time without… such… _pain_."

"Data? Do you have control of the chip now?"

"…Yes."

"Then, perhaps–"

"Deactivate?" Data said as though the concept was new to him. "Betray those who were murdered?"

"Betray, Data? In what way would you betray them?"

"Their deaths were caused through me. If I deny them my pain… would I not be denying them justice?"

Right then, Picard understood. "Having your body and mind taken from you…and twisted…your thoughts opened up so that your enemy can get to the information inside…is the deepest of violations." – Data nodded to him – "Your thoughts become their thoughts become your thoughts until all that's left is Borg…" Picard stopped himself.

Data picked up on his captain's own inner torment, but allowed him to refocus his message.

"What you're feeling, Data, is guilt. You feel a measure of responsibility. You feel you should have fought harder and done more. But within yourself you know, as I did, that resistance really was futile."

Data felt something that could perhaps be described as inner warmth at that. And the loneliness drifted away because he knew with certainty that he was not the only one to experience such a situation. And he could see that Picard had survived his ordeal and was still capable of performing his duty. "Sir… How are you able to function with such… feelings?"

Picard stood slowly and moved to the window. Data followed him expectantly.

"They say that wounds heal with time. I wouldn't say that, Data. I think that time breeds familiarity. You become numb to it… until it doesn't hurt quite so much. It may always be there. Nightmares… may always haunt you. But you go on. Because pain, like pleasure, is part of life. Allowing yourself to be destroyed by the guilt won't bring justice. It will do nothing but add another casualty to the long list." He gave Data a most earnest look. "Don't let him have another victim, Data."

The android glanced once more out the window. He was relieved in some way to have a new context for his experience. "Perhaps," he considered, "I _should_ deactivate the emotion chip for a while."

"I think that's a very good idea," Picard agreed. "Even for a short time. Just to give yourself a break. I think you've earned that right."

After a short pause, Data gave his head a twitch and the face that had been so marked by torment suddenly fell serene and neutral once again.

The captain gave him a gentle pat across the arm. "There are some friends outside who would be pleased to see you."

A few moments later, they were out in the corridor and Geordi La Forge was gripping his friend warmly by the shoulders. "Data? You okay?"

"I am functioning within acceptable parameters," came his standard response.

"It's good to have you back, Data."

The group then moved off toward the transporter room to attend the memorial party organised by the Rutherford crew. Data went with them. However, unknown to them, even with the emotion chip switched off, Data was by no means functioning as acceptably as he had hoped. Pain and guilt, it seemed, transcended technology and ate right into the core of his humanity.

* * *

**Onboard the U.S.S. Rutherford:**

Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg entered the ship's galley to find a crowded lounge with a small stage. Just outside the door had been a sign that read: GALAXY. Apparently the whole galley became a night-club on the weekends with a resident DJ. Looking around the room, Buffy saw first the Klingons, who were gathered in one corner of the galley by the narrow window that spanned the room. They noticed her enter and each one gave her a respectful nod. She returned the gesture with a flush of pride. Willow signalled that Giles was over in the great mass of casually dressed people and they headed toward him. Then Buffy noticed who was sat at the bar. Spike. Buffy broke off and moved to the bar.

Willow continued but was intercepted by Xander and Anya.

The three of them met and began to chat.

Spike didn't even have to turn to know that she was standing right behind him. Instead of turning, he refilled his empty glass from a whisky bottle and sank the lot.

She was still behind him. He could feel her there. He could smell her damn annoying scent. Annoying because it smelt so… delicious. Still, he had no intention of giving in to her. Not this time.

"I'm sorry," she said to him.

Spike swivelled around. "Oh. Really? Your sorry? Sorry for what? Leavin' me for dead?" He re-thought that last word. "Deader? … Or just for forgettin' I exist at all?"

She took the chair beside him. "Yes. I'm sorry on both counts," she acknowledged.

He eyed her suspiciously. Somehow, Spike noticed a difference in her. She seemed to have gained a good degree of maturity since they last spoke.

"I'm truly sorry, Spike. There's no excuse. I just wanted you to know…I appreciate what you did back there. We couldn't have done it without you."

"Too right," he slurred and took another double shot of whisky. "But you can stick your apology. Stick it." He let out a guffaw. "Stick it right up your hole… if you can tear the stake out from up there." Then he really did laugh. "I _really_ don't like you, Slayer. You're a…you...you're…" He stumbled for a cutting remark to make. "You…Buffy, you're… You _smell_!" With that, he retreated back to his drink.

Buffy nodded. For the first time in his memory she didn't bite back. "Well…thanks anyway." And she left.

Spike spun around but she didn't look back as she moved into the crowd to join her friends. He cursed as the barman replaced his bottle with a full one. "She really does smell, you know," he informed the disinterested man. "Wonderful. She smells… wonderful. With her… her beauty… effuljit…effulger…effuln… oh, whatever." And he drank.

Buffy met with her three friends just as an excited Australian man passed by them. "Awright, guys," he said and gave Xander a casual salute. "Welcome to the Rutherford," he offered to her and Willow. "Enjoy the evening! Visit the bar as much as you want! The first drink's on the house and the rest are free!" He gave Xander a hearty slap on the back and went on his way.

The Scoobies smiled at each other as Riker approached. He drew up to Xander and, after a beat, he offered his hand. Xander took it awkwardly.

"Midshipman Harris." Riker smiled and shook Xander's hand with gusto. "Good work." Then he addressed them all. "Do any of you play an instrument?"

They looked to each other for a bemused moment.

"One of you has to do a turn," said the commander. "It's traditional."

The others began a reflexive round of 'no' when Willow recalled Giles' secret talent for singing and guitar playing.

"Then do me a favour and ask your friend for me. I can have a guitar here in ten minutes." Riker put out his hand and stopped a young man. "Ensign – go down to the cargo bay and replicate me an acoustic guitar."

"Sure thing, Commander." The kid went off quickly on his mission.

"I'll see you a little bit later," Riker finished with a smile and turned back to Xander. "Nice beard." The commander then vanished into the throng.

Xander grinned with satisfaction and the others felt pride for him.

"I thought there was gonna be music," Buffy noted, eager to dance and let her hair down a lot.

Xander nodded. "Later. They're having a short memorial first."

Before they knew it, they were chatting and mingling promiscuously all throughout the room.

Rupert Giles was between chats when the captain of the Rutherford approached him and handed him a guitar. "I've been told this is for you."

Rupert took the instrument with a questioning frown.

Captain Freeman continued by explaining: "Mr. Giles, I'll be saying a few words shortly and I'd like you to sing a number. I only wish I could do it myself… but I'm tone-deaf." He gave a chuckle.

"You want me to sing?" Giles replied feeling somewhat ambushed.

"Please. If you don't mind, that is. It would be great to have a representative from your team on the stage tonight."

"Well then," Rupert considered, "I'd be happy to. Did you have anything in mind?"

"I'll leave that in your hands, Mr. Giles. Just…something to express the way we are all feeling." Freeman thanked him and made his way to the stage.

The galley gradually fell silent as everyone's attention was drawn toward the stage where Captain Freeman stood before them.

"Ladies," he called out. "Ladies and gentlemen. Those of non-specific gender. Friends, aliens, and fellow officers. And, of course, those of other-dimensional origin." – Dave received a round of subtle laughter from the room – "We're all gathered here tonight in celebration. And, yet, we're here with a deep sense of mourning. I'd like to be the first to offer a toast… to our fallen comrades. The opportunity to live full lives was taken from them, but they lived their lives to the full."

Some cheered and sounded aye's and whoops. The Scoobs even thought they heard a cry of 'here-here'.

"Shakespeare, in Hamlet, said that death was the 'undiscovered country'," Dave went on. "In my heart, I believe he was right. I see our lost ones making _new_ discoveries as we speak. Continuing their mission. They went from this life, and they went boldly… To explore the one, true, final frontier."

Again the crowd cheered.

"And to the Klingons, who perhaps suffered the greatest blow." Freeman raised a glass of bloodwine to the gathering. "To our honoured dead. VAd QUV VO'dAQ hEGH!"

The Klingons roared and raised their goblets in toast.

"Now, I know they wouldn't want us to wallow in grief, so the celebration will go on. Think not of what we have lost today… But give thanks for that which we still have."

There followed a great rousing cheer from all.

"In a moment, Commander Riker will be performing his jazz favourites with his band. But I'd first like to welcome Mr. Rupert Giles of the now infamous 'Spooky Group' onto the stage."

Xander turned to the girls. "What?"

Willow's mouth had dropped. "Spooky Group? …_Spooky_ _Group_? …Don't they know we're the Scooby Gang?"

Up until that point Giles had no idea what he was going to sing. But, from what Freeman had said, his choice was made. He decided upon a song that would be moving in the way it was sung. Something to give added meaning to Freeman's toast.

Giles appeared on stage where a stool and microphone device waited for him. He sat with his guitar resting across his thigh and began to strum a simple, slow and emotional tune.

"_If life is a river… And your heart is a boat. And just like a water baby, ba-by… Born to float. And if life is a wild wind…that blows way on high. And your heart is Amelia… Dying to fly. …Heaven knows… _…_No frontiers_… _And I've seen heaven in your eyes_."

The room was quiet and the audience watched him play and listened intently to his soft yet gravel voice.

"_If life is a bar room… In which we must wait. 'Round the man with his fingers…on the ivory gates. Where we sing until dawn… Of our fears and our fates. And we stack all the dead men… In self-addressed crates. In your eyes, faint, as the singing of a lark… That somehow this black night… Feels warmer for the spark, …Warmer for the spark. …That holds us 'til the day… …When fear will lose its grip… …And heaven has its way. Heaven knows… …No frontiers… And I've seen heaven in your eyes_."

Either it was the song or Giles' voice, but a warmth filled the room. Xander put an arm around Anya and Willow. Many others shared hugs around the room.

Buffy noted the presence of Spike beside her watching the performance.

"_If your life is a rough bed… Of brambles and nails. And your spirit's a slave…to man's whips and man's jails. Where you thirst and you hunger… For justice and right. And your heart is a pure flame… Of man's constant night. In your eyes, faint, as the singing of a lark… That somehow this black night… Feels warmer for the spark, …Warmer for the spark. …That holds us 'til the day… …When fear will lose its grip… …And heaven has its way. …And heaven has its wa-ay… …When all will harmonise… …And you know what's in our hearts… …The dream will realise. Heaven knows… …No frontiers… And I've seen heaven in your eyes, Heaven knows… ……No fronti-i-iers…… ……And I've seen … heaven in yo-o-our…… eyeeeees…_"

He plucked delicately at the strings of the guitar and brought the song to a close. A moment of silence passed. Then Giles received a favourable applause. He flushed and gave a wave before ducking out of the spotlight.

Once clear, Will Riker came up with his trombone and set up on the platform.

"He was good," Spike said to Buffy. "For a stiff." Then he gave her a wink and went out the door. She puzzled after him. She just couldn't work him out at all.

A couple of minutes later, beautiful and relaxing jazz music filled the room.

Willow was about to further complain about the 'Spooky Group' situation when she noticed Chief Engineer La Forge arrive. He was alone, which got her attention. She would have expected his best friend, Data, to be with him. She was extremely concerned about the soft-hearted android and had been waiting expectantly for his arrival. She left her friends and walked over to the entranceway where the engineer stood in a deep purple shirt and shining black pants. "Hi, Geordi."

"Willow. Hi there. Have you seen Data at all tonight?"

She groaned. "I was gonna say the same thing."

"Well, we all beamed over here a while ago," he told her. "But we got side-tracked and split up." He regarded the lounge. "I see Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher made it here." Geordi gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm sure he'll be along soon."

But, when he left her to meet his crewmates, Willow went out the door to search for the android.

Asking the computer for his location, she followed its instructions and found Data in an observation gallery looking out at the planet and the broken shell of the Enterprise in orbit beside them.

Data regarded her when she spoke his name. "Miss Rosenberg."

"Data, you can call me Willow. You don't call Geordi 'Mr. La Forge', do you?" she asked with humour.

"I was not aware we were on such familiar terms, Miss Rosenberg. Are we…friends?"

"Sometimes, Data, people can meet and instantly feel comfortable together. I've known people to bond in minutes."

"Have we bonded?"

She smiled. "Maybe not yet but I think there could be bondage. I mean–" She went red and back-tracked. "Okay, scratch that. I like you, Data. I think we can be friends."

Data looked back to his ship. "I am a dangerous friend to have, Willow. I am a machine, not a person. I can be… reprogrammed with terrible results. It has happened to me before."

"What you went through," Will said softly, "it isn't so unusual where I come from either. For example; Xander was a pig-eatin' hyena-man."

Data pushed up an eyebrow and aimed it at her.

"My point is; people can be corrupted too. A spirit made Xander eat a pig. It even caused others to eat a _man_." She paused for dramatic emphasis. "Data, you've made contact with a being the likes of which has never been encountered in this universe. You shared your mind with it. Your experience will prove invaluable if your people are to understand the supernatural. You may be able to bridge the gap with the unique perspective you have gained."

"Many people paid a heavy price for my unique perspective. I was the tool of so much destruction. I wonder at times if my being functional is more of a detriment than a benefit. My selfish desire to become more human may lead others to harm."

"Data, I'm sorry, but that's just a big bunch of baloney. Every human being has that responsibility to carry. We all have potential to cause harm or do great things. I needed to talk to you, Data, because I want you to know something very important."

She gained his undivided attention.

"The Darkness that was in you… The ability it has to command a person's body as though it was its own is based on one incontrovertible law. The spirit…the entity…the being that took your body and mind from you can only do that…if the victim has a soul."

Again she paused for emphasis but saw that Data could not grasp the spiritual concept she was presenting.

"A soul is a life! A human life! If there is a lesson you can take from this…there it is. Because, if there was any doubt before in anyone's mind, at least now it can't be argued… You have a _soul_, Data."

His golden yellow eyes began to widen in a distinctly human response.

"I can't tell you when you got it or where it came from," she added. "But you have one. And you are _alive_."

If Data had breath he would have gasped. Could it be true? That his personality had evolved to the degree that he had become a human soul? Although the thought was unbelievable, he didn't doubt the honesty of his new friend.

"And, hey," Willow declared, "you have a whole bunch of other living friends who would really love to see you at the party." She offered him her small delicate hand. "Come on. Guilt's a cage, Data. You can't do any good in a cage. You can respect the lost ones by living up to your dreams just like they did."

The yellow man reached out and took her hand.

She led him out of despair and into the warmth of humanity.

* * *

Dance music vibrated through the Galaxy club when Willow returned to the galley with Data. DJ Chevva Swift was up on the stage working the decks and mixing tracks.

Data's friends and crewmates came to greet him zealously.

Xander stepped away from the dance floor and came to Willow. He threw a thumb over to the DJ. "He's playing a selection of hits from our year," he said over the loud music. "But I never heard the songs before. I think he's a few months ahead of us. I didn't have the heart to tell him. Actually, I thought we could make a few bucks off the info somehow." A coy grin crossed his face.

"Xander!" she berated.

"I'm joking!"

"Good." Sometimes his mischievous nature shocked her. "How could you make money from it anyway?"

"This track," he explained, "it's gonna be number one in November! I'm sure there are places that take bets on future hits…"

"Really?" Then she shook her head and gave him a slap on the arm. "Stop it!"

Data had disappeared for a few minutes to mingle and, when Geordi located him again, he was in the centre of the floor – performing some kind of chicken dance. Those dancing around him were stopping their own gyrating to regard the insane spasms of the mechanical man.

Data strutted, boogied, and jived away until the beep of his communicator brought his funky frolicking to a stop. He tapped the badge under his crimson jacket. "Data here."

"It's Geordi, Data," came the reply.

The android looked around the room until he spotted his friend by the bar. He waved. "Is there a problem?"

"No. No problem. Just… what are you _doing_?"

"I believe I am dancing," replied the android. Data walked from the dance floor and joined La Forge at the bar. "Was I not…good?"

Geordi winced at the question. "It was… interesting," he called above the dance tune.

"Aah. I see," he replied. "Perhaps I was attempting to emulate too many styles simultaneously."

His friend smiled. "Look, Data," he shouted.

The android cut in, "Geordi, you do not have to shout. I can hear quite clearly." He tapped his artificial ears.

"Right," said La Forge in a more comfortable tone. Though it was one he could not even hear himself. "I think I'm gonna head back to the Hawkeye and call it a night. The tug's due to arrive early and, besides, the Klingons are up next and I don't think I'm gonna stick around for the noise."

"I understand completely. Klingon music can be quite unforgiving," Data agreed in all seriousness.

The party continued into the early hours until only a handful of people remained. The Scoobs were among the last to depart – with Xander carrying a drunk and sleeping Anya – yet still there were Klingons immersed in song. They'd sung about the war. They'd made up songs for each one of their party. They'd created a song for the Scoobies. And now they were delving into the classics.

Buffy helped Giles stumble haphazardly out of the night-club and toward the transporters. After watching Buffy struggle for a deck and a half, Willow thought it helpful to point out the dismissible nature of synthohol.

Buffy halted. "What?" Then she looked to the heavy man she was helping.

Giles squinted through foggy beer goggles. "Really?" His mind suddenly began to clear and, standing up straight, he realised it was his spectacles that were in fact fogged over. He was suddenly quite clear-headed.

Buffy huffed and continued on.

Giles curled his lip up. "Well…that's brought _my_ evening to an anti-climax." And he soberly followed his team away. "I was looking forward to the spinning bedroom and the mid-morning throwing-up."

* * *

The following day – or, to be more precise, later that morning – the transport tugship _Tamaroa_ arrived at their location. Almost the entire complement of the Enterprise and Rutherford were transported to the Tamaroaalong with the Sunnydale group and, once the two battered ships were secured by the large vessel's heavy-duty tractor beams, they departed finally from the Epsilon Ursae star system and made their way steadily to Earth. They were, at last, going home.

* * *

('No Frontiers' songwriter: Jimmy McCarthy. Originally performed by Mary Black and then by The Corrs. )


	38. Return To Earth

**- Return To Earth -**

_**38**_

**Earth, 4 days later:**

The sun shimmered gold over the blue-green waters of the San Francisco Bay area. The orange vermilion towers of the Golden Gate Bridge stood monolithic, supporting the cables of the expansive suspension bridge and reaching their art deco spires to the sky. At one end of the historic monument, overlooking Horseshoe Bay, were the grounds of Starfleet Headquarters. Deep within the complex, the final session of a court martial was taking place.

Within hours of arriving on Earth there had been a hearing in which Picard and Data had faced combined charges of misconduct, negligence, sabotage, murder, terrorism, and treason. The Scoobs, watching the proceedings from a public observation gallery, had been told that some minority groups among the Federation population had filed a complaint questioning Data's operational safety and Picard's command choices. The entire situation had apparently caused a galactic scare. But the Scoobs had been assured that the trial was just a formality to appease the few who handled their fear by casting blame.

Members of the starship crews and Scoobs and others involved were in attendance, all fixed on one end of the long hall where the Federation Council of Judges sat. Presiding over them and speaking on their behalf, the Federation President approached the speaker's podium.

After a long deliberation, their verdicts were ready to be heard.

"Will the accused please come forward."

Captain Picard and Commander Data, in full dress uniform with white tunic, came from a side door and stepped across the black marble floor to approach the panel. They stopped with their feet resting over the ornate symbol of the United Federation of Planets.

"Lieutenant Commander Data," began the President. "Taking into consideration the testimonies of our extra-dimensional visitors – whose knowledge, guidance and unique abilities made it possible to avoid disaster – it is the judgement of the panel that you are… innocent of all charges."

Relief sounded throughout the room.

"This was an atrocious incident caused by a violent and sadistic parasite to whom your body was made a vessel, rendering you inculpable for its actions. Commander Data, You may step down."

Data regarded his captain and addressed the presiding judge: "I wish to remain."

"Certainly." The President continued: "Captain Jean-Luc Picard. The commanding officer of a starship is personally accountable for the conduct of his entire crew. Due to the ruling that Commander Data is _not_ guilty of misconduct, there is nothing for you to be held accountable for. Therefore a verdict of _not guilty_ is returned accordingly."

Again the audible sound of relief spread across the hall.

"Other than the charges regarding the wilful destruction of Science Station three-two-three-five at Sal Fusia Six – which have been dropped due to the necessity of the situation – there _is_ one other, very serious charge facing you. One of negligence on your part. Valuable Starfleet sites and properties were allowed to be destroyed. Hundreds of people have been killed. The civilisation of an alien world was put in danger. And this danger was allowed to set foot on Earth's very doorstep risking catastrophe. The question at the forefront of this panel's deliberation was … Could this tragedy that cost the lives of a thousand seven hundred and eighty two innocent victims have been averted if you had acted with greater responsibly and swiftness as a captain?"

Picard's head remained firmly upright yet within he bowed a little. He could not easily refute the charges as there was always that question in his mind. But the advice to him had been to plead not guilty and, in truth, he didn't consider himself guilty of any crime. Any failure on his part he put down to confusion and human frailty.

"You afforded this entity the freedom to manipulate Commander Data and to wreak unthinkable havoc upon our galaxy," the President continued. "Your choice of action has been considered long and hard." He paused to gather all the information discussed by the panel of judges in their 7-hour analysis of the matter. "Bearing in mind the supernatural nature of this entire incident, and the supernatural methods required to neutralise the threat, it is the judgement of this panel that you, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, could _not_ have anticipated events, nor have acted to any greater degree with the knowledge of a Starfleet captain. The nature of the crisis and the circumstances of the mission that followed were clearly beyond the experience of our society. Therefore, it has been deemed unanimously by all members of the Council of Judges that you acted correctly and, ultimately, with success." The agreeable mumblings of the galleries filled the courtroom. Once quietened, he went on to add: "You, and your crew, and all those involved with you in the operation, are hereby cleared of any transgression."

A restrained applause at the verdicts swept through the hall.

"Speaking as President of the United Federation of Planets, I would like to say; well done, Captain, on a successful mission. And, as Captain James T. Kirk before you, you and your valiant crew bring great credit to the name '_Enterprise_'."

Picard gave an appreciative bow of the head. "It should be noted, Mr. President, that success would have been impossible without the help of the U.S.S. Rutherford."

"And so it has, Captain."

"And the Spooky Group," the android added.

"Yes, Commander Data, that too has been noted. This court martial is adjourned and closed."

With that, the members of the galleries poured out into the black floor of the hall. There, after shaking many hands and accepting many approvals, Picard came across a familiar face he hadn't seen in the flesh for far too long. Miles Edward O'Brien.

"Captain Picard," said the Irishman, shaking his hand firmly.

"Chief O'Brien," the captain replied in amazement. "Or, should I say, Professor?"

"I might be professor of engineering at Starfleet Academy but I'll always be a chief at heart," he replied.

"I have to say, I was surprised to hear you'd taken the position. I never pictured you planet-side behind a desk."

"It was the war, sir. Quite frankly I've seen enough of war. I'm not getting any younger and I have to think about the family now. So…here I am…taking the safe road."

"Sounds very wise," Picard acknowledged. "How _are_ Keiko and Molly?"

"They're doing great. Actually there's another member of the O'Brien clan now – Kirayoshi."

Picard's brow lifted. "Really? …When did this happen?"

"Three years ago. He's a little runt right now. Into everything. Actually Keiko's–"

At that moment they were interrupted by a slender man with a chiselled jaw who wore a very formal black uniform.

"Excuse the intrusion, Captain Picard," he said with the tone of a command rather than a request. "I am Agent Hellström of the Federation Department of Temporal Investigations." The stiff blond man offered no hand to shake. "It may please you to know we have processed and approved your request to time travel. We will contact you within the next twenty-four hours to arrange a meeting in which you and your key officers will be instructed in our regulations. Also, I shall be joining your mission to ensure the safety of the timeline." Then he suddenly leaned into the captain, and his stony veneer evaporated for an instant. "Actually, Captain, I will be the first agent of Temporal Investigations to actually travel to another time. It's quite exciting. I'm looking forward to the mission." Then he reverted to his previous stance, gave a mechanical nod and walked away.

"You must be thrilled at the prospect," Miles said to Picard.

Picard grimaced.

O'Brien went on: "It's gotta be ironic, though. Temporal Investigators who never time travel."

Picard spotted Rupert Giles and decided to introduce the two men. After an initial exchange, Picard explained that the professor had helped Geordi to build a multidimensional transporter device from his own schematics. "We're gonna spend the next few days fitting the device into a ship's transporter pad," O'Brien explained to Giles. "After all, we can't go letting you take one back to the past with you."

Many more people came to speak with Picard before he finally got away from that courtroom. It was time, thankfully, to move on to the next mission.

The week that followed went by much more slowly than the last for the Scooby Gang, and much more enjoyably. While the Enterprise underwent repairs in Spacedock, La Forge had worked feverishly with O'Brien to finish work on the multidimensional transporter device. There had been talk of fitting this device into the transporter pad of a newly commissioned starship, as repairs to both the Enterprise and Rutherford would take weeks to complete. Apparently it would have been much easier to transport with the portable device, however Starfleet had ruled that out as an unacceptable sharing of advanced technology. If the rumours were true, they would be using something called a 'Defiant-class' ship. It seemed this ship had yet to be assigned a crew thus the keys, so to speak, had been handed to Picard and a small crew for their upcoming homecoming journey. Willow had discovered that Data had spent the previous 2 days making all the necessary calculations to make the trip successfully.

Though the Scoobs had been restricted to certain areas of the massive Spacedock since the trial, they had never once felt imprisoned. There had been a great deal to occupy themselves with – holodecks and such, and members of the Enterprise and Rutherford crew had always made themselves available to keep them company. It felt good for them to be so close to Earth, even if it was the wrong one. What they enjoyed most of all was the chance, for just this once, to relax with no worries and no stress. There were no evil creatures to slay, no demon research to do, and they were safe in the knowledge they were finally going home.

Spike had spent most of his time alone and the gang had seen very little of Giles. He was too busy meeting people – Crusher, Picard and other more official sorts. From what they could gather, he was providing them with a basic guide to Demon lore. Something of a helpful parting gift. This dimension of reality had been exposed to the supernatural for the first time and now they would have to adapt and learn to manage with it. Their solution: the Centre for Supernatural Research at Starfleet HQ.

But, now, it was 18 and a half days since their arrival in this dimension and the Scoobs were ready to depart.

* * *

The sphere of the Earth spun slowly in the big black; stars glimmering like fairy dust all about it.

"Space. The final frontier…" Xander's voice echoed across the scene.

"Whatcha doin'?" asked Buffy, entering the observation room.

"Just a voiceover monologue to capture the moment," he replied.

She approached him at the window. "As you do." She smiled. It was good to see he'd overcome his fear of space.

They both looked out at Earth in all its splendour.

"We've saved it so many times…" Buffy began.

"And this is the first time we've _seen_ it," Xander finished.

For a while they simply stood transfixed by the sight of their home planet.

"Should be a piece of cake now," Xander said at last.

"What's that?"

"Saving the world. Now we saved the universe and all."

Buffy's lips formed a cute but cynical smile. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves." After another long moment of staring at the world, she said what she had come to tell him: "They're waiting. It's time to go home."

Xander turned to her then happily. They left the room and didn't look back.

* * *

The Sunnydale group, baring Giles who was not with them, met up with a station crewman who escorted them to the umbilical tunnel that led to their awaiting ship. He explained to them that the crew were already onboard. On the way to the airlock, by a large window, they met Captain Dave Freeman. The man wore some futuristic form of leg brace to strengthen his wounded limb.

"There's your new ship," Captain Freeman declared, signalling beyond the glass.

It was like no other ship they'd seen. There was no saucer. No engines on sticks. It was a small, compact machine with side-mounted warp engines that hugged tight up to her body. She was sleek and mean. She was similar in style to the _Defiant_ that came before her, but with a little more of an aggressive character. She had a rounder look. The nose was less prominent and the engines had a sharper appearance.

Spike thought it looked like a pancake with stumpy wings.

"The _U.S.S. Phantom_," Freeman explained. "There are still creatures out there. After taking you guys home, the Phantom's mission will be to gather them up." He turned to Xander. "It's a pity you can't stay, soldier. Her new crew could use a supernatural sensei to train them up for their assignment. That way I'd know the two members of my crew who requested a posting there'd get the best training in the galaxy." He put out a hand and gave Xander's a sturdy tug. "It was a privilege serving at your side, Mr. Harris."

Xander flushed. "Well… Thanks, Dave. It was a pleasure to be a member of the Rutherford family."

The rugged captain addressed Anya: "Sass asked me to convey her best to you and to wish you well."

"Ah, that was very pleasant of her," Anya replied in her robot tone. "Please return the same from us."

"Alright, you should get going," said Freeman. "Or you might not get _back in time_."

Xander told him to watch the leg and the group parted company with the captain of the Rutherford. Freeman remained at the window alone to watch them ship out.

They were shown to the small bridge of the Phantom where they recognised only Data and Geordi who were at a side terminal with a curly-haired man. At the rear stood a thin man in black watching every move like a nazi sentinel.

Picard and Giles entered through the second door.

The captain was laughing heartily. "I'm sure Constantine would see it differently," he said jovially.

Giles replied with his own gleeful chuckle. "No doubt he would."

Buffy, Will and Xander exchanged a look.

It wasn't long before the small bridge was packed. Buffy, Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya and Spike stood together at the far rear beside the Temporal Agent. Picard had the centre chair. To his right were La Forge and O'Brien, with Worf at tactical and Data sat to his left at Ops. Before him, Riker had the helm.

Deanna, also at Picard's left, reported from the communications post: "We're receiving the all-clear from Spacedock, Captain."

"Power her up, Number One," said Picard. "Take her out."

"Aye, sir," Riker acknowledged, loving every second. He was thrilled to be giving this new bird a test flight.

Dwarfed by the great opening leading out of Spacedock, the small vessel slipped through easily at half impulse.

Soon they were clear of Earth and the station. Giles was asked to confirm the date and time of their departure from their own reality. Going back 18 days, he was fairly certain of the time. His companions agreed. About 8:05pm when Giles had finished his long-winded tale about the myth. The myth that turned out not to be.

La Forge keyed in for 2pm to give them 6 hours to prepare for the final phase of the trip. "Warp field configured, Captain. We're ready to generate the temporal vortex."

"Helm and vessel ready, sir," Riker reported.

"Lay in a course for the twenty-first century, Will," said Picard. "Engage."

* * *

A sizzling green gateway of energy exploded before them on the viewer and the Phantom vanished in time.

* * *

6 hours later, the ship hung in stealth-mode over the 21st century Earth of the Starfleet dimension. Year: 2000. They'd spent the time locating the precise equivalent transport co-ordinates in this reality to set them in the correct spot in their own universe. With Giles' direction, the location was identified where the Magic Box _would_ be, and the multidimensional transporter was programmed with the cellular pattern of the Scoobs that bore the signature of their dimension.

They had had the chance then to relax with their new friends for a few hours finally before they were called to the bridge at 8pm.

When they arrived on the bridge, Counsellor Troi, Geordi, Worf, Riker, and the captain were waiting for them. Picard allowed the Scoobs10 minutes to say their goodbyes and instructed Riker to see them to the transporter room.

Troi and La Forge offered their farewells as Picard approached Giles.

"All the best to you, Rupert," said the captain.

"And you, Jean-Luc. Goodbye."

Buffy outstretched her hands reluctantly and offered Worf her bat'leth. The sword of Gor'agh. "I guess I have to give this back."

"I am afraid so." Worf acknowledged, accepting the weapon. "However, It will _always_ be here for you. And you will always be welcome on Kronos. There, the story of the Slayer will be told for centuries." He stepped back. He wasn't one for long goodbyes it seemed.

"Cool," she replied, and joined her friends.

Commander Riker moved to the door so that it opened before them and said: "Well, this is the moment you've all been waiting for. Let's get you home."

The 6 of them, with a little more difficulty than they had expected, took Riker's lead and headed out the bridge.

The captain returned to the centre chair. "Have a safe voyage home," he said to them all.

* * *

They arrived at the transporter room of the Phantom to find the Irishman there with Doctor Crusher and Data.

"I hope you haven't lost your touch, Professor," said Riker as he entered.

Miles smiled back at him. "Well, it's been a while. But don't worry. Operating a transporter…it's like riding a bicycle. So I hear," he answered in jest.

Giles approached the doctor, after cleaning his spectacles and returning them to his face.

Crusher sighed. "Well…it's been the longest three weeks of my life."

"It hasn't been the worst," he replied with the coy smile of a shy schoolboy.

The doctor's shoulders dropped a touch and she put her hands to his forearms.

Something passed between them. Something unspoken and intimate. It gave the Scoobs cause to wonder what exactly those two had been up to.

"Goodbye, Rupert," Doctor Crusher said finally.

He took one of her hands delicately in both of his. "Beverly."

Spike, altogether bored with the long goodbye, leaned in to Buffy and said softly yet harshly: "All the clothes he could have replicated, and he's _still_ wearin' tweed."

"It's been a heck of a trek," Willow pronounced cutely as she stood before her android friend.

"A heck of a _star_ trek," Xander threw in.

"I wish we could have known each other better, Data," she admitted.

"Considering the likelihood of our encountering each other being eight thousand four hundred and ninety seven billion to one," Data responded, "I am thankful the opportunity was afforded us to meet at all."

Surprisingly she gave him a hug to which he rather mechanically patted her on the back.

"Bye, Data."

"Goodbye, Willow."

Spike, rolling his eyes, moved onto the transporter pad, more eager than ever to get back to the demon-infested hellhole of Sunnydale.

Riker offered Xander a hand to shake. "I don't think I'll ever understand your world. But have a safe journey back to it."

He accepted the outstretched hand with a grateful nod.

The 5 companions stepped up onto the pad and joined Spike there.

Buffy took one final look at the room. It wasn't the Enterprise but it bore all the hallmarks of this universe.

An odd chirp sounded at O'Brien's controls and Data went to investigate.

"That didn't sound good," whispered Xander.

"There's still a slight phase variance in the matrix," Miles reported, seeing the concern on their faces. Especially Xander's. "Oh, it's nothing to worry about. It's a one-off transport. If it was a permanent installation then we'd have a problem." They didn't look any wiser for his explanation. "The device is designed to work independently so the thing kicked up a fuss when we planted it in the chamber there. It doesn't get on so well with the phase transition coils." They didn't laugh. "Anyway, let's get you home."

A moment later, Miles reported ready.

This was it.

Riker turned from O'Brien and regarded them finally. "Perhaps we'll meet again," he said, and then: "Energise, Mr. O'Brien."

Buffy watched the curly-haired Irishman run his fingers across the controls and look up to the platform where they stood. Their eyes met and he gave her a smile. She didn't have time to return the gesture. For Buffy, Willow, Giles, Spike, Xander and Anya, it was time to leave.

The transporter began to take effect…

…and the world of their star trek adventure disappeared.


	39. Epilogue

**- Epilogue -**

_**39**_

Riley opened his eyes with a start and made a quick visual sweep of the room.

_The Magic Box... Hostile 17... Dawn... weird box... No Scooby gang... Hostile 17?_

"What's...? Where'd everybody go?"

Spike started to say he'd been wondering the same thing when Buffy and the others came in from the back. They froze. The 'device' was uncovered and Dawn was right in front of it.

Buffy panicked. "Dawn! Tell me you didn't–"

But it was too late. The air turned cold…

"Dawn, get away from there!" Buffy couldn't get to her. The light seemed to burn hottest at its core. She looked to Riley – he was near Dawn. He could help her.

Riley understood by her look what she wanted him to do, so he made a move for the littler Summers. But the pain hit suddenly. They all fell to their knees. The agony crippled every part of them from head to toe like hot lava bubbling through their veins.

* * *

The transporter effect subsided…

…and the training room of the Magic Box came into substance around them.

The instant Xander felt solid once again, he brought his hands up quickly to test if his face was on the right way up. He looked around and saw the others were also there and also fine. Quietly he was glad it was the last time he'd ever have to do the beamy thing. Willow's eyes were closed as she savoured the tingly effect of the final experience and, beside her, Giles was the epitome of composure. Anya came to rest solidly on terra firma equally as unimpressed as the first time she'd transported. Her main concern was with the cash register and ensuring the money was still safely in it. Second on her list was taking it out and smelling it. And Spike was just relieved that he finally didn't get left behind.

When Buffy materialised in the back room, she gave a heavy sigh of relief. At long last – home. Xander muttered something on arrival about checking they were in the right place, but the Slayer didn't have to check. She could _feel_ they were home.

When the group of six approached the door to the training room and peered out into the store, they witnessed a sight that brought awe and a heavy dose of déjà vu. Now at the end of their experience, the intergalactic transdimentional Sunnydale group were staggered to see the start of their adventure unfold before them as though 18 days of their lives had simply been a dream.

The Magic Box – saturated by a shocking white light – seemed to vibrate right through to its very foundations. Ahead of the staircase, the round table there rattled with the source of the light flickering upon it. The mystical box containing the spirit of Rhamhal. And, around that, 8 people were doubled over with an agony that Buffy could remember all too clearly. The Slayer's first instinct was to jump in. To help somehow. But, in this time and in this reality, the evil spirit was still alive. It had to go to the Enterprise. Everything had to unfold as it had done for it to be destroyed in the future reality. The pain had to be relived.

Buffy, Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya, and Spike all watched on as their doubles in the Magic Box writhed in the blinding light just a few feet away.

They saw Riley, further back from the table, struggle to bring himself up. Then they saw as he dashed across the floor, sweeping Dawn up by her waist and launching himself over the counter.

The 6 people in the back room saw themselves shake apart in the light as it consumed them. Their bodies shattered into fragments and, in a rush of air that took the atmosphere from the room, the box and their doubles were gone.

* * *

Riley's back hurt and he realised it was the only pain he felt just as the air around them seemed to be sucked out of the room.

Then all fell silent in the magic shop.

When Riley Finn decided finally that it was safe to move he got up, helped Dawn to her feet and checked her for damage. She was shivering and trying to speak. _Probably shock_.

They moved around the till and onto the shop floor. It was empty. Riley panned around and saw no one. Dawn pointed at the table where the box had been. _Had_ been.

She broke into a fit of tears.

"It's alright," he said, reaching out to hold her.

Then, surprisingly, a familiar voice sounded beside them. "Dawn…"

The pair spun their heads. It was…

"Buffy?" Riley said with a measure of confusion and relief.

Dawn ran over to her sister and wrapped her arms around her. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I couldn't help it. It was inside my _head_."

Buffy reassured her that everything was okay and that it was all over.

When Riley saw the others gradually emerge from the back he again looked to his girlfriend and uttered: "Buffy?"

"Oh, no," Xander said dramatically. "No, sir. This isn't just Buffy, my friends. You're lookin' at 'Buff Rogers' from the twenty-fourth century!"

It was at that moment that Riley and Dawn noticed Xander's face.

Riley's eyes widened in amazement. "Huh?…And…A beard? You got a _beard_?" He reached across and tugged at the hairs on Xander's chin. He squealed at the pain and Riley realised the beard was really real. "How did you get a beard?"

"We've…been away a while," clarified Buffy.

"That hurt," Xander grumbled, rubbing at his hairy chin.

"Oh, you can shave that off now," Anya remarked casually.

"_What_?" he sputtered. After all he'd been through to grow it!

Anya shrugged and curled up her lip. "The bristles are coarse," she explained. "They irritate my face when we smooch. And there's the rash it leaves between my–"

"OK!" he cut in quickly. "…I'll shave it."

The Scoobies smiled and began to relax. Soon they headed home. Giles locked up shop and, as they moved down the street, Dawn asked Buffy what had happened.

"It's going to take some explaining. At least a couple of light-years," her sister replied.

"Light-years is distance, not time," corrected Willow helpfully.

"Whatever," Buffy said, waving the facts away, "It'll take a while."

Xander leapt ahead. "Yeah, and I know just what goes down well with an epic tale of action and adventure… PIZZA!" He removed a wad of cash from his pocket and waved it in front of them. "It's on me."

Buffy smiled. "Make it so, Number One," she joked.

"Aye, Captain," Xander responded with a salute.

Willow walked with him and gave him a nudge. "Where did you get that?"

"Um…replicator. Yesterday."

"Well," she went on, "you're goin' in the pizza place alone in case it's funny-money, mister."

None of them really noticed as Spike tagged along.

* * *

Even with the terrible and thrilling ordeal they had been through now over… There was still a subtle thought at the back of Buffy's mind… Just what DID it mean?

'Death is your gift'

She had no idea then. But soon… Soon she would learn EXACTLY what it meant.

* * *

In the heart of Los Angeles, in an old hotel called the _Hyperion_, a group of supernatural crime fighters were hard at work.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce looked up suddenly from the enormous codex he was researching. Something wasn't right. He got up from the desk and shuffled uneasily toward the reception desk where Cordelia Chase sat shuffling through a copy of Marie Claire. "I have the nagging feeling there's something else I should be doing," he voiced.

Cordy looked up from the magazine. "I know exactly what you mean," she replied. "It's like I forgot to leave the oven on."

Angel came running down the large staircase from his room and raced up to the reception desk urgently. "Black…" he declared to Cordelia, "as in the black of the clothes I'm wearing… it's still in fashion, right?"

She puzzled at his sudden vanity and replied: "Err…yeah, Angel. Black is the biz. It's the Ferrari of colours. Very big with the youth generation as well as the elite. It's been the cornerstone of style for…pretty much ever. Always will be, big guy."

Angel, relieved and satisfied with her sparkling proclamation, popped off back to his room to brood with his freshly reinforced ego.

Wesley leaned against the reception desk next to Cordelia and observed Angel scrambling back up the stairs. "What was that all about I wonder?"

"I have NO idea," she replied. "Maybe he's having a mid-eternal life crisis."

"So…" Wes began to ask, remembering the leather jacket he had rediscovered in his closet the day before, "black's still in, is it?"

"Actually it's a little passè now. Mauve is the new black."

"But…you just told him black was the coolest thing since sliced bread."

"Yeah…lies, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, all lies. What else was I gonna say? 'Well, Angel – boss – black is about as cool as a ginger toupee? I don't think so. Making a vampire angry and losing my job are _not_ on my list of things to do today. After all, what's Angel gonna do? Start wearing vibrant spandex and a cape?"

Wesley pondered that for just a moment.

Then shuddered.

**The End**


	40. SPECIAL FEATURE

**- Alternate Ending -**

_**40**_

"Hey, Dawn…where's the dip?" Buffy asked, rummaging through the cupboards of her kitchen for the final ingredient to complete their chips n' dips n' TV night.

They'd been back in Sunnydale less than 4 hours and Giles had gone home. Thankfully Spike had also disappeared at some point. Though it was extremely late, the remaining friends were far too hyper to retire quite so early. And so it was that the evening had become a chips, dips and TV night. Only Buffy couldn't find the dip.

"In the refrigerator where it _always_ is," Dawn answered from the breakfast island where she mixed the chips into a large bowl. "I think dimension hopping frazzled your brain."

"My brain is fine. But we keep the dip with the chips… it's logical."

"Hello, Spock, I've been saying that _forever_! But you always like the dip cold."

"Since when?!" Buffy couldn't make sense of Dawn's crazy-talk. "And what's a _spock_?"

"Jeez, Buffy, you really _have_ lost the plot."

Then, from the lounge, Xander yelled out for her to come. He sounded irate and panic-stricken.

Buffy ran through the hall into the den and saw the picture on the TV screen…

It was Data. And Worf. And Riker. Their clothes were strange but they were unmistakable.

Data spoke, "Someone is approaching. Forty metres due east and closing." At that, Worf hid and Riker ducked low with a phaser. A door opened and from it entered a second Riker.

Stars followed and planets. Xander and Buffy were unable to speak, move, or look away from the screen.

"Space," came the voice of Picard, "the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. It's continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds. To seek out new life and new civilisations. To boldly go where no one has gone before.'

_STAR TREK : THE NEXT GENERATION_ appeared in bold blue text and a chorus of ghastly orchestral music accompanied it.

A spaceship darted across the screen…

_starring PATRICK STEWART as Capt. Jean-Luc Picard…_

"Buffy … what IS this? What does it mean?" Xander finally managed to utter.

"I…I don't know." But that wasn't true. She just didn't WANT to know.

"It's just Star trek," Dawn said, eyeing them curiously.

Willow returned from the bathroom. "What's up?"

Buffy's lips quivered. "Everything."

* * *

_(Just a tease for fun. They DID go home really and all is well. I just couldn't resist putting in this DVD extra feature haha. This little thing was just toying with the idea they beamed into an alternate to their own reality – namely the Joss Whedon Buffyverse where Trek is a show. Anyway here I disclaim the portion of the Star Trek TNG episode 'Second Chances' Thank you and goodnight.)_

_PS: To anyone confused by the ANGEL gang ending in chapter 39: just go back and read CHAPTERS 11 and 12. I had to tie up ALL my loose ends. _

_Thank you for reading and please tell me your thoughts on it. Ciao._


End file.
